Variations
by kazooband
Summary: This is the final battle as seen by fourteen different people, because Harry didn't know the half of it. Contains no DH spoilers, unless I happened to guess right on something.
1. The Story of the Leader

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I don't.

Author's Note: This story is an elaboration on an event that was described in another one of my stories, "The End," but you don't need to read that to understand this. The only trouble I expect anyone could encounter by reading "Variations" before "The End" is that they'd have several things spoiled, but that's all. This story relates the same fight (the final battle against Voldemort) fourteen times, following the experiences of fourteen different people. I hope you enjoy it.

**Chapter 1: The Story of the Leader**

A preliminary report from Tobias on the N.E.W.T. results (the students did well this year), a request from Hagrid to be allowed to show next year's Care of Magical Creatures class a Lethifold (the line must be drawn somewhere), an angry letter from the parents of a fifth year complaining about the difficulty of the O.W.L.s (they certainly don't waste time), a note from the House Elves asking what she'd like to have served at the leaving feast, the usual request from Filch to allow him to torture unruly students…

Professor McGonagall set down the last roll of parchment and leaned back in her chair…Dumbledore's chair…her chair…the chair. No matter how many times she settled herself behind this desk, slept in the side chamber, no matter how she decorated the space, no matter how many times the portraits of former Headmasters insisted otherwise, to her this would always be Dumbledore's office.

"Something troubling you, Minerva?"

McGonagall looked up and easily found Dumbledore's portrait among the hundreds of former Headmasters.

"How did you do it, Albus?"

"It has been my experience that, when something needs to be done, we find a way to do it."

McGonagall sighed. It was his usual response to a question she asked more often than she was prepared to admit, and it hadn't been very helpful any of those time either.

Her days as Transfiguration teacher, when her greatest worries were grading essays and disciplining students she caught wandering the halls after hours, were long over. Now she was Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry while a war raged just over the mountains and sometimes even closer.

But now, every report she read, whether it was from the Order or the Ministry, said that Voldemort had moved off, maybe even left the country. It had been nearly two weeks since the last open battle, and, as relieved as she was, McGonagall couldn't help the growing ominous feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She hadn't felt it quite so pointedly in several months, since Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned up in the Great Hall the previous February, seeking shelter and protection as they regrouped from the secret mission Dumbledore had set them. She'd welcomed them, even though she'd been certain that the Death Eaters, and maybe even You-Know-Who, would follow them. Instead, they'd spent a month at Hogwarts without incident. Most of the time they could be found, researching who knows what, then they'd left and she hadn't seen or heard from them until three weeks ago, when the three of them turned up again, hoping to take their N.E.W.T.s. Or, rather, one was hoping to take her N.E.W.T.s, the other two seemed afraid for certain vital parts of their anatomy if they didn't.

Allowing herself a rare smile, McGonagall stood and walked to the window. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were probably in Hogsmeade with most of the rest of the school, enjoying their last visit before the end of the term. She'd almost cancelled this visit, just like the rest of them that year, but You-Know-Who was so far away.

McGonagall could make out a few groups of students wandering around the lake or along the path to and from Hogsmeade, though the light was fading. After giving them a brief respite from the dark storm clouds that had covered the entire country that morning, it seemed that they were finally coming back. If it hadn't started raining yet, it would soon.

Unexpectedly, McGonagall felt a faint itch on the back of her head, as though someone was blowing behind her ear.

"Minerva."

Age had not been kind to her reflexes, but she was still quick enough when the situation called for it. In one quick movement she turned around, drew her wand, and pointed it at the intruder.

"Severus." Contrary to what she'd expected, Snape's wand was not trained on her, in fact, it wasn't even in sight.

"Good afternoon," Snape replied, as though he'd only stopped by to discuss the weather. "Or is it evening? In either case it won't remain pleasant for much longer."

"Come to kill me too, Severus?"

A strange look crossed Snape's face but he mastered it quickly and returned to his usual stony expression.

"Not me."

"What?" McGonagall fumbled. "How did you get in here?"

"I'm not the one you ought to be worried about," Snape returned.

McGonagall's automatic retort was interrupted by the calm voice of Professor Dumbledore.

"Listen to him, Minerva."

It was again his usual advice, which he typically spouted when a student was called to the Headmistress's office for discipline, but there was something about the way he said it this time that made it sound altogether more important. Stranger still was Snape's reaction to hearing Dumbledore's voice: he'd whipped around and spent the next few moments searching out the portrait, and when he turned back it took him much longer than before to master his features.

"Who should I be worried about?" McGonagall prompted, the itching behind her ear getting worse.

"The Death Eaters who are currently gaining entrance to this castle by every passage they know.

"Both the Aurors and the Order have evidence that You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters are in Albania."

"And who do you suppose gave them that impression, left the clues that led them to that conclusion?"

"You lied to us," McGonagall replied, hand tightening around her wand.

"I told the truth as I knew it," Snape said. "The Dark Lord was in Albania."

Suddenly, the itching behind her ear, the warning that the castle's wards were being tampered with, grew too much for McGonagall to stand and she lifted a hand to scratch the spot.

Watching her, Snape said, "It seems you have a fight on your hands."

"And whose side will you be on?" McGonagall replied, flicking her wand to lift the warning spell and immediately relieving the itching.

But Snape didn't reply and McGonagall didn't stop him when he turned to leave.

Pointing her wand to her throat, McGonagall called, "Students, report to your houses at once. House guards seals yourselves in ten minutes. Teachers to your positions. This is very real."

McGonagall released the spell and paused to listen to her final words echo through the castle and across the grounds. _This is very real._

Of all the places the Death Eaters could attack, that You-Know-Who could choose to stage his battle, why did it have to be here? Hadn't Hogwarts seen enough of war? Maybe if Potter wasn't-

Potter. For all McGonagall knew he could still be in Hogsmeade along with most of the older students. They'd had no idea what was going on, and when they tried to return to Hogwarts they'd be walking right into a battle zone.

McGonagall didn't know if Harry was familiar with the Order's method of communication, but it was the only way she knew she could get a message to him, so she cast a patronus and sent it off, hoping he'd know it was a warning to stay away. She sent a second patronus to Grimmauld Place, but with the war requiring so little of the Order's attention recently, she didn't know for sure if anyone would be there to receive it.

Terror boiling within her, McGonagall turned now to the portraits.

"Dily, alert Saint Mungo's. The rest of you, I need to know what's happening. Speak with the other portraits and start relaying information to the teachers. Ask the ghosts to do the same. Quickly now."

With that, the occupants of the portraits scattered, pausing only to jostle their neighbors awake. The last thing McGonagall saw before turning to leave was Dumbledore winking at her.

----------------

Even if they hadn't planned for this possibility, even if they hadn't prepared and strategized in staff meetings that sometimes lasted long into the night, there still would have been no need for McGonagall to explain the situation when she got downstairs, for a small band of teachers, Aurors, and Order members were already defending the Entrance Hall against a much larger group of Death Eaters.

Without sparing a second thought for her own well being, McGonagall raced down the stairs to help, dodging or shielding herself from spells as they began coming her way. Most of her colleagues had positioned themselves behind statues or banisters, allowing those to crumble under the onslaught, but a few, mostly Aurors and members of the Order, had placed themselves at the foot of the stairs, and it was those that McGonagall joined.

"Good of you to come," Kingsley Shacklebolt said as she placed herself between him and Professor Flitwick.

"Got here as soon as I could," McGonagall returned, taking aim at a Death Eater. He deflected her spell easily and she was so distracted that she didn't realize that she'd made a target of herself until a curse whizzed past her left ear.

"Are there any students in the Great Hall?" McGonagall asked, simultaneously vowing to be more alert.

"Doors have been closed since I got here," Shacklebolt replied. "Don't know if anyone's inside."

"Dinner wouldn't have started for another half hour after you made your announcement," Flitwick offered. "No students should be in there."

"I wouldn't be so worried about the Great Hall if I were you," Shacklebolt added.

"The dungeons," McGonagall gasped, eyes flicking to the staircase in question, which was behind the line of Death Eaters. "Slytherin House!"

"Aye," Moody said from the other side of Professor Flitwick, sounding skeptical. McGonagall didn't have to look at his face to know what expression was painted there.

"They're students, Alastor!" McGonagall cried, channeling her anger over his implication into her next curse, which dropped a Death Eater at the end of the line. "Not Death Eaters!"

"Why don't we let hist- Leave him, Minerva!" Moody interrupted himself, for a spell had finally found Flitwick, who'd crumpled to the ground with a soft grunt and McGonagall had stooped to help him.

McGonagall straightened up, knowing Moody was right about helping the wounded later, even if he wasn't about the Slytherin students. "It's our duty to help all the students equally," she argued instead.

If Moody was going to reply, McGonagall never heard it, because at that moment someone shouted the two words she'd been dreading.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The entire fight seemed to pause for a moment as the line of defenders stopped to wait for the spell to find one of them. Then Hestia Jones slumped to the ground and the fight continued in earnest. It was different now, however, for now that the killing curse had been given and received, the Death Eaters seemed quite keen to see it used again, and they weren't the only ones: Moody and a few other Aurors started casting it too.

In those few seconds, the battle took a strange and terrible turn. With so many of those green bolts flying from one line to the other, the fighters no longer flinched when they heard the spell being cast, they didn't pause to see where it went, they didn't bother trying to save themselves because they knew it was useless. All of a sudden, Hogwarts' defenders found themselves outnumbered in a war of attrition.

Though disenheartened, they fought on, never quite giving as good as they got. It was obvious that they couldn't last much longer in a fight such as this, but retreat would be allowing the Death Eaters into the rest of Hogwarts, and as long as they stood their ground there was a chance they could end the fighting here.

McGonagall wasn't sure how long things continued like this, five minutes perhaps, though it felt like eons. It was long enough, however, for the statues, banisters, and stairs behind them to be nearly destroyed by stray spells. She chanced a glace at the rest of her line and nearly lost all concentration when she saw that their force of more than twenty had been reduced to five. While she was still recovering, something unexpected happened: Moody left the line, hobbled forward a few paces, and started throwing every spell he could at the Death Eaters, including more than a few killing curses.

Somehow, his mind, so filled with suspicion and conspiracies in his later years, had decided that it was imperative that he make himself as much of a nuisance as possible before he fell. There was only one reason McGonagall could fathom that would make him do such a thing.

"Alastor!" she called after him. "What did you see? Who did you see?"

However, even if Moody had intended to respond, he never got the chance, for McGonagall had barely finished speaking when a green bolt of light found him and he slumped to the ground.

For a moment everything seemed to stop, then, without consciously deciding to, McGonagall pointed her wand at the fallen Professor Flitwick, lifted him a few inches off the floor, and ran with him up the battered stairs. Remus Lupin followed, Professor Vector slung over his shoulder, and Kingsley Shacklebolt and Professor Caden came after him, still sending spells towards the encroaching Death Eaters and carrying wounded.

When they reached the next floor, Lupin staggered forward a few steps, lifted his wand and tapped the elbow of a suit of armor. It grabbed at the spot with its other hand as though it had been hit in the funny bone and lifted one foot, revealing a small gap between the floorboards.

"Pull it open and get inside," Lupin commanded, shifting Professor Vector's position on his shoulder.

McGonagall did as he asked, seeing Flitwick down through the trap door first, then found herself in a secret passageway she'd never seen before.

"How did-"

"I'll explain later," Lupin replied shortly as he slipped through the trapdoor to stand next to her, shoving her gracelessly down the passageway to allow their companions room for entrance. "This will lead us to the second floor."

"Second," McGonagall cried as she struggled to keep Flitwick's limp weight moving, "but the hospital wing's a floor above that."

"Best I can do," Lupin panted from behind her, and McGonagall had no choice but to let the subject drop as they reached the foot of a tall and winding staircase.

McGonagall never considered herself old, but never before had she felt as infirm as when she was struggling up that staircase, using every bit of her strength and concentration to keep herself and Flitwick from toppling down the stairs and onto the line of people behind her.

McGonagall wasn't sure how long they'd been climbing. It felt like an eternity, yet she was still surprised when she climbed a final step and bumped her head on the ceiling, nearly losing her hat and her footing.

She felt Remus stop on the step behind her and reach over her head to tap the ceiling with his wand. She hadn't realized how dark their secret passageway was until the patch of ceiling above her slid open, bathing her in blinding torchlight.

As it transpired, their timing was unfortunate. No sooner had McGonagall poked her head out of the trapdoor than she had to crouch back down again to avoid being seen by a passing group of Death Eaters.

She'd seen enough to know that their trapdoor was partially concealed behind a statue, but it was still wishful thinking to hope that the Death Eaters might come and go without spotting the gaping hole in the floor. Indeed, she'd hardly lowered Flitwick to the ground when a woman above them shouted, "Hey, I think I heard something!"

Knowing that they couldn't have been caught in a worse position if they'd tried, McGonagall nevertheless prepared herself for the coming assault, but none came.

After more than enough time for the Death Eaters to find them had passed and passed again, McGonagall straightened up and looked into the hallway to find it deserted.

Forcing herself to show no outward sign of her confusion, McGonagall climbed out of the trap door and levitated Flitwick after her. Remus soon joined her, Professor Vector still slung over his shoulder, and together they attempted to discover where the Death Eaters had gone and what had led them away. It didn't take them long.

The Death Eaters were running down a perpendicular hallway, all except one, who lagged behind. It wasn't apparent why until the woman turned back, spotted them, raised a finger to her lips, and carried on running with the others.

"Nymphadora," McGonagall whispered, awestruck, suddenly feeling that all the trust Dumbledore had placed in the young woman, who McGonagall herself had been so skeptical of, was validated.

Next to her, Remus nodded without speaking, having turned away, and McGonagall didn't need to ask why. Even though she hadn't intended it, her years as a teacher had honed her perceptions when it came to affairs of the heart.

By silent agreement, she and Remus let the subject drop and started instead toward the rest of their group, who had already begun making their way toward the Hospital Wing. Ordinarily, the trek wouldn't have taken more than five minutes, but they were continually crossing paths with groups of Death Eaters they were too outnumbered and heavily burdened to fight, so it was fifteen minutes later by the time they finally reached the closed doors of the hospital wing.

Lowering Flitwick once again to the floor, McGonagall pointed her wand at the doorknob and muttered the password, "Sanctuary." The door opened with an obliging click.

The group slipped inside and was beset almost immediately by Poppy Pomphrey, who directed them to lay the wounded on the prepared beds so she could begin checking them over.

Even though they had laid out these plans years ago, McGonagall couldn't help but marvel at the Healer's efficiency. Already the usually open Hospital Wing had been transformed into a triage unit with at least twice the usual number of beds and wide assortments of potions laid out on tables placed at strategic intervals. Pomphrey herself was bustling between the wounded on the beds, and most of them seemed to already be benefiting from her ministrations.

"How bad is it?" Pomphrey asked unexpectedly as she leaned over the stirring Flitwick and it took McGonagall a moment to realize the question was directed at her.

"Not good," McGonagall replied simply, inwardly scolding herself for letting her thoughts wander in a time such as this.

"I'm going to need help here," Pomphrey continued.

"Where do you propose we get it from," McGonagall asked. "Even if we could get word to Saint Mungo's the castle is completely sealed. Anyone they send wouldn't be able to get inside."

"Students, then," Pomphrey suggested. "I've been working with Hannah Abbott; she wants to become a Healer and certainly knows her way around a healing charm."

"The students have been confined to their houses," McGonagall replied, citing the first reason to keep students out of the fight that came to mind.

"Then send someone to fetch her," Pomphrey said, brushing past the Headmistress to see to a group of wounded who'd just stumbled through the door.

Students shouldn't have to get involved in the battle, it wasn't fair to ask, McGonagall thought, but even as she pondered that she knew that this was war and fair had nothing to do with it.

'Indecision does not become me,' McGonagall scolded herself, forcing aside the fear that had been threatening to overwhelm her since she'd left the Entrance Hall.

"Remus," she said, "you seem to know this castle better than anyone."

"I'll find Hannah," Lupin replied.

"You know the way to Hufflepuff house?" She paused only long enough for him to nod before she continued, "The password is 'Fwooper.'"

Lupin left without another word and Madam Pomphrey looked up from her work just long enough to give McGonagall a grateful smile.

Knowing that she was only losing time by remaining in the Hospital Wing, McGonagall turned to the member of the new group of wounded who seemed most able to talk, an Auror she knew by sight but not by name, and asked, "How did this happen to you?"

"We were ambushed," he replied through gritted teeth. His arms and chest were covered in a thick salve but still seemed to be causing him pain.

"Where are the Death Eaters?" McGonagall pressed.

"Everywhere," the Auror replied.

"And You-Know-Who?" McGonagall continued, breath catching at the mere thought of that terrible presence in her beloved school.

"I don't know," the Auror replied.

"Alright," McGonagall said, turning to the group from the Entrance Hall she'd arrived with. "We're not doing any good standing around here. I think we ought to start at the top floor and work our way down, expelling any Death Eaters we find as we go."

Kingsley nodded his agreement, but when she turned to go he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Even Muggles know better than to send their generals to the front lines," he said.

"Well, I'm neither a general nor a Muggle," McGonagall replied, brushing him off and heading for the door.

"You're not as young as you used to be," Kingsley added.

"A fact I prefer not to be reminded of," McGonagall muttered automatically before realizing that this was not the time to get defensive about her age. With a sigh, she turned back to Kingsley and revised herself. "That never stopped Dumbledore."

Kingsley didn't even bother with responding to that. Instead he said, "We need someone outside of the battle who can keep tabs on what's going on and tell us where we're needed. You're the best person for the job."

McGonagall pinned Shacklebolt with the same look that had terrified her students for years, but he seemed utterly unaffected and even returned more or less in kind.

"Very well," McGonagall finally conceded, unable to fault his reasoning. "I'll be sending signals via my patronus, please let anyone you come across know that."

"I will," Kingsley replied, making for the door.

So everyone who could left with Shacklebolt, and McGonagall stayed, trying to remember the last time she'd felt so utterly useless, but the feeling didn't last long. McGonagall hadn't been standing there long when Pomphrey thrust a potion into her hand and told her to see that the Auror in the second bed drank it while she herself got to work reattaching a severed hand.

"He's here!" exclaimed Nearly-Headless Nick some time later, startling them all as Pomphrey and McGonagall worked together to set a badly broken leg.

"He? You don't mean…" McGonagall asked, knowing he did.

"You-Know-Who," Nick confirmed gravely, looking as disheveled as McGonagall had ever seen him and even forgetting to mind his head, which was teetering precariously.

"Where, Sir Nicholas," McGonagall pressed, turning to a hastily done map of Hogwarts she'd charmed on one wall of the Hospital Wing.

"This floor, near the Charms classroom," Nick replied.

"Alright," McGonagall said, now facing a dilemma. Ending Voldemort was the surest way to end the war, but sending anyone to face a wizard so powerful was tantamount to a death sentence, and not an option she could take without some proper organization. "Spread the word, tell everyone to avoid that part of the third floor, and use caution when getting here."

Nick nodded and left, and it was only after she'd given the same message to all the portraits in the Hospital Wing that McGonagall realized what he had told her. Voldemort was here, in the castle. She'd known all along that it was a possibility, even likelihood, but to hear it confirmed, to know that his horrible presence was in the castle, and furthermore, not so far from the Hospital Wing, was a horrible revelation, but also not one she had time to dwell on.

Still, that did not halt her caution some ten minutes later when there was a sudden and urgent knock on the door of the Hospital Wing. She almost ignored it, and when it did not come again she began to wonder if she'd imagined it. Everyone on their side of the fight should have known the password to the Hospital Wing, but perhaps he or she was unable to speak, or memory charmed, and besides, someone standing outside their door was sure to attract the wrong sort of attention.

"Poppy," McGonagall said, turning to the door, her mind made up.

"Just a moment, I need-"

"Poppy." It was not a request, nor something that could wait for a moment.

McGonagall and Pomphrey pulled their wands and made for the door. Pomphrey placed herself against the wall nearest the doorknob, and McGonagall pulled the door open, braced for an attack, but none came. The hallway was clear except for a crumpled heap of a man, lying on the floor in front of them.

"That's Jacob Dawlish!" McGonagall exclaimed, flicking her wand to levitate him inside.

"What have they done to him!" Pomphrey breathed, inspecting him as McGonagall laid him on the nearest empty bed. McGonagall had to admit to wondering precisely the same thing: the man was covered head to foot in the results of at least half a dozen amateur charms, as though the Death Eaters had grown tired of waging battle in their usual way and elected to toy with him instead.

"Once he's out of danger, make sure he's not under the influence of Polyjuice or glamour charms," McGonagall reminded the nurse as she turned to inspect her map again.

"I need you to apply the salve in the blue bottle to Professor Vector's leg," Pomphrey returned, edgily but doubtless intentionally reminding McGonagall that she had been interrupted before.

Before long, McGonagall fell into an odd sort of rhythm. She'd gather any information she could from every group of wounded that entered the hospital wing and get more regular reports from portraits and ghosts, then use that information to modify her map of Hogwarts, then send a patronus to relate any new developments to her comrades. In the meantime she'd help Madam Pomphrey in any way she could, which was perhaps a better gauge of how things were going. When things started most of the wounded simply had a broken bone or cut that Pomphrey would mend before sending them back into the fray, but as time passed the injuries became more and more severe, sometimes even exceeding Pomphrey's considerable skills and resources, and sometimes, when there was truly nothing left that could be done and they'd have to levitate the broken body to one of the back beds and cover it with a sheet. It all left very little attention for the passage of time and it wasn't until McGonagall caught herself wondering where Lupin and Hannah Abbott had got to that she realized nearly two hours had gone by.

Abruptly, the comfort and familiarity of repetition fell away and McGonagall faced her makeshift map as she hadn't before. Somehow, even though she knew that every time she gave an order there were less people able to carry it out, even though most of those who fell behind usually found their way to the Hospital Wing, she'd failed to realize just how much their numbers had diminished.

"We can't hold out much longer," McGonagall whispered to herself, though Jacob Dawlish, who happened to be in a bed nearby, and recently cleared of suspicion of being a Death Eater in disguise, heard her.

"We'll fight as long as we need to," he said.

"No," McGonagall replied. "No, if they want Hogwarts so badly then we should let them have it."

"You can't be serious," Dawlish laughed, though he started coughing soon after.

"There are hundreds of students scattered around this school," McGonagall continued. "We need to get them to safety before we spend any more resources fighting a battle we can't win."

"We haven't lost yet," Dawlish pointed out.

"Look around," McGonagall hissed, "there's more people in here than there are out there fighting. I don't see you rejoining the battle any time soon."

If Dawlish responded, McGonagall never heard it, because at that moment the door to the Hospital Wing opened. She turned to face it, preparing herself for the next wave of wounded or the final assault of the Death Eaters, but neither came. Instead, Hannah Abbott walked inside, closely followed by Bill Weasley.

Madam Pomphrey dragged Hannah off almost immediately, so McGonagall focused her attention of Bill.

"It's bad out there, Professor," Bill sighed, unprompted.

"What took so long?" McGonagall pressed. "Where's Remus?"

"Remus?" Bill asked. "I haven't seen him."

"Then how did you know to fetch Hannah?" McGonagall asked, puzzled and more than a little concerned about the well being of her former colleague.

"I didn't," Bill admitted. "I had to duck behind a tapestry to avoid a group of Death Eaters and there she was, scared to death but bound and determined to get here and help Madam Pomphrey. Wouldn't hear a word about going back to her house, so I offered to escort her."

"I see," McGonagall replied, looking at the brave Hufflepuff with new admiration. Though clearly overwhelmed, she was coolly following Pomphrey's instructions as she ministered to a burn.

"How much longer can we hold out?" McGonagall asked, returning her attention to Bill.

"If this were any other place I'd say we should have backed out an hour ago," Bill replied, suddenly looking weary. He ran a hand over his hair, pausing momentarily at his forehead, where a finger grazed one of the scars he'd earned in a similar battle a year before. "But we can't just abandon Hogwarts."

As much as she wanted to agree, as much as the old Gryffindor in her screamed that there was no greater dishonor than running from a fight, she knew that it was no use. Even if they fought to the last man, they could not win back Hogwarts, and if they tried then they might lose the war for their efforts.

"Yes we can," McGonagall said slowly.

"What?" Bill asked sharply as everyone in the room turned to look at her.

"We can abandon Hogwarts, and we will," McGonagall continued. "We are going to win this war, but not today."

One look at Bill confirmed that his inner Gryffindor was yelling just as loudly as hers, but he didn't argue. In fact, he seemed to agree.

Bolstered, McGonagall turned to the nearest portrait and commanded, "Spread the word, we're leaving Hogwarts. Everyone is to begin evacuating the students."

The portrait's subject nodded and bustled off, so McGonagall turned to the room at large and said, "Let's get these people out of here."

As it happened, transporting the patients was more complex that McGonagall anticipated. Since Apparating and the Floo Network were out of the question, she and Bill began creating as many portkeys as they would need, but even the best-off patients were in no condition to weather the violent ride to Saint Mungo's. Pomphrey and Hannah began binding and stabilizing any injured limbs they could, but even Hannah looked skeptical.

"I ought to go with them," Pomphrey said as she worked, "so I can explain their injuries and the Healers at Saint Mungo's can begin treating them right away without having to figure out what's wrong with them first."

"But you need to stay here," McGonagall said sternly. "You wouldn't be able to get back and you're the only Healer we've got. If something went wrong here…"

"I was getting to that," Pomphrey sighed. "And we can't send them all at once or they'll probably hurt each other while riding the portkey."

"I'll go," Hannah volunteered promptly.

Pomphrey was so surprised that she actually paused in her work for the first time in hours.

"They might not believe you," she pointed out.

"I'll make them," Hannah replied.

"They might not even know what's happened here," McGonagall added.

"I'll tell them," Hannah said.

"Alright," Pomphrey said, placing a hand on Hannah's shoulder. "You've done well."

"Thanks," Hannah replied gratefully. McGonagall handed her a portkey and a moment later she disappeared.

Pomphrey, McGonagall, and Bill began sending the patients after her, allowing about thirty seconds between each one. They were almost half way done when Shacklebolt burst through the door, looking shaken and out of breath.

"They're gone!" he exclaimed without preamble.

"The Death Eaters?" McGonagall asked, surprised, her nimble mind struggling to compute that turn of events.

"The students," Kingsley clarified unsteadily. "The ones in Ravenclaw at least. The entire tower was deserted."

"What!" McGonagall demanded, her elation turning to raw panic. "Where did they go?"

"I wish I knew," Kingsley replied, looking as helpless as she'd ever seen him.

Maybe she didn't believe him, maybe she needed to see for herself, maybe she needed to do something before the fear froze her, maybe she didn't know why, but whatever the reason, she raced to the door, yanked it open, and ran down the hallway as fast as her legs would carry her, not even sparing a thought for the possibility of running into Death Eaters. A moment later Shacklebolt and Bill caught up with her. They didn't bother asking where she was going.

"There wasn't any sign of a fight," Kingsley said as they ran up a staircase. "The fireplace was cold; it was like everyone had just gone to class. The only strange thing is that a bookshelf might have been out of place, like they'd moved it to block the entrance then moved it again so they could leave."

McGonagall listened as they ran, occasionally asking for additional details, but she also couldn't help but notice something that the numerous reports she'd received had left out: the damage this battle had done to Hogwarts. She almost didn't recognize it. Everywhere she looked portraits were ripped or burned and hanging out of their broken frames and several times she nearly slipped and fell on the crumbled remains of statues and banisters.

When they reached the seventh floor, Shacklebolt turned right, toward Ravenclaw, but McGonagall and Bill turned left, toward Gryffindor. Outnumbered, Shacklebolt turned back to join them. His obvious question when unasked, but hung in the air nevertheless, so McGonagall answered it anyway.

"You-Know-Who seems to have a special fascination with Harry Potter," she panted, the long climb weighing on her. "If any house was going to get attacked, it would be his."

However, when they reached the portrait, it was not hanging open or ripped apart as they had feared. In fact, it seemed that the only damage was to the Fat Lady's pride.

"At last, someone to restore some order here," she cried.

"Crup," McGonagall replied between gasps for air.

"Oh, don't bother," the Fat Lady replied, staying firmly shut, "there's no one in there."

"Where did they go?" McGonagall pressed.

"How should I know," the Fat Lady said, "but those Gryffindors have a thing or two to learn about following rules. Why, it must have been half an hour after I changed the password that Harry Potter appears out of nowhere demanding to be let inside, saying he was on orders from Dumbledore."

"Harry was here?" McGonagall gasped.

"Oh yes," the Fat Lady said, "and I couldn't just make him stay out here, could I? Then, not tem minutes after I let him in he comes waltzing right back out again, and this time he's got four more students with him, aside from the two he had tagging along in the first place."

McGonagall only had to look at Bill to corroborate her suspicion of who two of those other six might be. He'd spent most of the last few minutes turning an increasingly troubling shade of green, but some of his usual color returned at the mention of Ron and Ginny.

"They went off for awhile," the Fat Lady continued. "Eventually some came back and some others left, there was really no point in trying to stop them, most days they hardly even listen to me when I change the password. Then, the next thing I know the whole lot of them are leaving, led by a couple of House Elves."

"House Elves?" McGonagall breathed.

"I know!" the Fat Lady pouted.

"Mirri!" McGonagall exclaimed.

A moment later a tiny tea towel clad elf appeared before them with an obliging pop.

"Have the House Elves been leading the students out of Hogwarts?" McGonagall asked immediately.

"Yes Mistress," Mirri replied, eyes narrowing.

"Then the students are safe," McGonagall pressed, "all of them."

"We found all the students in their houses and some students who weren't," Mirri replied. "We led them through secret passageways to Hogsmeade and found them floo powder."

"Where are they?" McGonagall continued.

"We sent them to Saint Mungo's, Mistress," Mirri replied. "We knew you would be wanting to know they is alright."

"That you, Mirri," McGonagall said, allowing herself to breathe easy. "You've done well, but who gave you the order to help the students?"

Mirri's eyes narrowed then widened. "Dobby is saying you did, Mistress." She paused for a moment, then muttered, "Dobby is a bad elf."

"No, he's not," McGonagall said, struggling not to laugh with shear relief.

"Dobby lied," Mirri said, rubbing at her wrists as though she was preparing for them to be slapped.

"Dobby deserves our thanks," McGonagall said. "You all do. You did exactly what I would have asked you to do if I'd only thought of it."

Mirri bashfully blinked and looked away, unused to such praise.

"You may go," McGonagall added, and with one last grateful look, Mirri nodded and left.

McGonagall, Bill, and Shacklebolt turned to each other. No words were spoken, but they all knew they were thinking the same thing. Back when they'd thought the students were still in danger it had seemed like it would be all they could do to get them to safety before Hogwarts was overrun entirely, but now the situation had changed, and if they could end the career of just one more Death Eater then it would be worthwhile to try. With an agreement as silent as their discussion, the three turned and started for the staircase.

Their campaign was neither thorough nor well planned, but most Death Eaters they came across seemed not to realize that a few defenders still remained in the castle and they used the element of surprise to their advantage at every opportunity. Steadily, the number of captured Death Eaters in Azkaban began to grow as they worked their way downstairs with Shacklebolt sending the captured death Eaters off with special unbreakable bonds that also functioned as portkeys. Their ranks were even bolstered on occasion by fellow defenders with similar ideas.

When they reached the Entrance Hall, Shacklebolt was sporting a limp and a bleeding arm thanks to a final Death Eater who hadn't been fooled by their ambush, but they were otherwise unharmed. They knew that Hogwarts was still in Death Eater control and they could never hope to take it back with so few numbers, but they couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment as they took a portkey to Saint Mungo's.

-------------

The change in mood was dramatic and immediate. When they left Hogwarts things had been almost serene despite the obvious signs of battle, but in the lobby of Saint Mungo's things couldn't have been more chaotic. Three was barely space enough to stand as the mob of people shouted for information.

Ignoring them all, McGonagall shoved her way to the nearest Healer and demanded to be taken to the students immediately. She was led up a flight of stairs and down a hallway before being shown to a large chamber which looked like it used to be several treatment rooms that had the dividing walls removed to allow space for the hundreds of students.

Even though there was a general sense of fear in the room, it could at least be said that the atmosphere was much calmer than that of the lobby.

The Head Boy and Girl approached and relayed the most vital information without even needing to be asked.

"We've done a head count," Terry Boot said. "Almost everyone is here. A few are in other rooms getting more serious treatment and some of the people who were in Hogsmeade when this started went home right away, but we've heard from all of them."

"So everyone's accounted for," McGonagall prompted.

The two Heads exchanged uncomfortable glances, then Susan Bones replied, "We've triple checked, and there's still two people missing."

"Harry Potter and Ron Weasley," Terry finished.

"I see," McGonagall sighed, heart sinking. She looked past Terry and Susan and noticed Hermione and Ginny hovering impatiently in the background, waiting for their turn to speak. "Excellent work, thank you. Could you please speak with the Healers and see about releasing the students to their families? There's a group of parents in the lobby who look ready to tear the building down. I will join you momentarily."

Terry and Susan nodded and stepped aside and Hermione and Ginny rushed forward.

"We have to go back for them!"

"They could be hurt!"

"We never should have left them in the first place!"

"And now we're not allowed to leave this room!"

"Stop!" McGonagall demanded. "I want to see them back and safe as much as you do, but returning to Hogwarts is impossible at the moment, and if they chose to remain behind while the rest of the students were being evacuated then that is their business."

"You don't understand!"

"We can't just-"

"Stop," McGonagall said again. "What, exactly, don't I understand, Miss Granger?"

Hermione faltered for a moment, pondering what she was about to say, her formidable mind perhaps slowed by the several head injuries she seemed to have received over the course of the battle.

"Do you remember the stuff they wrote in the _Prophet_ last year about Harry being the Chosen One?" Hermione asked.

"Utter rubbish," McGonagall replied stiffly.

"All true," Hermione countered. "Professor Trelawney made a prediction about it before Harry was even born."

McGonagall masked her laughter with sniff, but also suffered a sharp pang as she realized that she had no idea if the batty old mystic had made it out of the castle.

"I know most of what she says is worthless," Hermione continued, "but that prediction was the real thing."

"What are you saying, exactly?" McGonagall asked.

"Harry is the only person who can kill Voldemort, and he went into Hogwarts determined to do it," Hermione said. "And Ron will stand by him as long as he can. I meant to also, but…things happened."

"It's alright, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"Then you'll send someone to rescue them?" Ginny asked hopefully.

McGonagall wasn't sure if she'd ever felt so terrible, looking at their pleading faces and telling them that her answer hadn't changed, that if Harry and Ron had landed themselves in a position that they couldn't escape from on their own then there was simply no way she could pull together a group of rescuers large enough in time, that even if they did release the wards around Hogwarts so they could enter, they'd only be allowing any remaining Death Eaters inside too, but as she explained herself, Hermione and Ginny's expressions changed from desperate to resigned and when she was through they didn't argue, as though they'd known what she would say all along and only asked out of some sad obligation.

"They'll be alright," Hermione said shakily. "Harry's made it out of tougher situations than this no problem."

It was obvious that Ginny wanted to ask her to name one, she even took a breath to speak, but she held her tongue and let it out as a sigh instead, then said, "We just have to wait."

So they waited.


	2. The Story of the Barkeep

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I don't.

**Chapter 2: The Story of the Barkeep**

Madam Alexandra Rosmerta could hardly remember the last time she'd seen the Three Broomsticks so busy. It must have been years, since before You-Know-Who took his war out in the open. Since then she'd observed that people were much more likely to spend time with their families, and only the bravest and most desperate came to drown their troubles in her pub.

Since it so often happened that those brave and desperate were also the ones fighting on the front lines, Rosmerta was frequently the recipient of first hand news about the war, and after a few glasses of her mulled mead it tended to come to her unbidden and unbridled by the forced optimism that the fighters seemed to put on for other people and even each other. She'd listen intently; eager for news and for ways she could help and atone for her actions the previous year, when she'd unwillingly participated in an assassination attempt on Albus Dumbledore and almost caused the death of a student.

That was how she'd begun relaying messages. It had started out simply enough, "If Remus Lupin comes by, tell him I need to speak with him." Little things that would reach the recipient even if she failed to follow through, just a bit slower, but gradually the messages began to change, until she was giving warnings about the tactics of specific Death Eaters and passing along theories about You-Know-Who's location and plans, and slipping her patrons small scrolls along with their Firewhisky, which they would pour over for a few moments before incinerating.

In the past few weeks, though, the messages had begun to change again, indicating that You-Know-Who had not only put a stop to his Death Eaters' attacks, but perhaps left England entirely. The mood in her pub had changed with the messages. The brave and desperate became less brooding and began meeting in larger and larger groups and their news remained optimistic no matter now many Firewhiskys she served. Gradually, they were joined by the less brave and less desperate, whose fear was finally superseded by their desire to drown their miseries with company.

Then there were the students. Rosmerta could always look forward to good business on the days when the students from Hogwarts were allowed to visit Hogsmeade, but their bravery and desperation had very little to do with when that occurred, though from the look of them they'd worked up quite a bit of desperation.

Judging by the general chatter, the students had just completed their final exams and were enjoying their last, but also their first, Hogsmeade weekend of the year. One student, a fourth year by the look of him, was loudly waxing philosophical on the subject of Arithmancy. Interestingly, he'd only had a few sips of his butterbeer while his tablemates had recently hailed Rosmerta for seconds, but the teachers at the next table looked interested. Another student, probably a seventh year, was sitting alone at a table in the corner, eying the excited fourth year with some contempt. He'd already been slightly cross eyed when he arrived, then drained three butterbeers in quick succession. If he kept it up much longer she'd have to cut him off.

As was usual on days such as this, Rosmerta was so occupied with the orders and conversations and tabs of the dozen tables she was serving that she noticed little else. It wasn't until she observed a marked increase in the number of people in her pub that she allowed herself to pause for a moment to investigate why. A quick glance told her all she needed to know: that day they had been granted their first clear view of the sun in months, but it had finally given way to the same sleeting rain that had been plaguing them for most of the past year.

Rosmerta slipped behind the bar and directed her assistant to warm up a few bottles of butterbeer while she filled a tankard with mead. While her back was turned, the pub quieted unexpectedly and Rosmerta look back to find every head turned toward the wide front windows, which were quickly becoming covered with crystals of ice. Moments later the door was forced open with a crack and a small group of students slid inside, hair and robes covered in ice and looking as scared as they were frozen.

The brave and desperate didn't even wait for the newcomers to announce "Dementors!" before throwing their Galleons down on their tables, pulling out their wands, and rushing out the door. The not-so-brave but perhaps-a-bit-more-desperate-than-usual were nearly as fast, standing up and Disapparating for points unknown but undoubtedly far away, several neglecting to leave a few Galleons behind, but Rosmerta decided not to trouble herself with remembering their identities, considering the circumstances.

Several students looked like they wanted to join the brave and desperate and several more looked like they would have already gone the way of the not-so-brave if they only had their Apparition licenses. However, they all held their seats and waited while the few teachers present held a hurried discussion.

Rosmerta could only hear about one word out of every five, but it was enough to glean that they'd planned for nearly every contingency except this one: that an attack could happen while they were so spread out and vulnerable.

Finally, only of the teachers, Professor Sinistra, announced that all of the students would be sent to Saint Mungo's. The brave tried to argue that they wanted to fight and the no-so-brave expressed the opinion that Saint Mungo's might be in danger as well and wasn't Hogwarts safer as well as closer, but the teachers wouldn't hear any of it and instead set about looking for an object big enough to serve as a Portkey for all of the students. The sudden and enormous crash of a window breaking put an end to all arguments. The students didn't even bother to find out whether the window collapsed under the weight of the ice or the effect of a spell, they simply rushed to the chair the teachers had finally settled on as a Portkey and disappeared, several of them forgetting to settle their tabs as well, but Rosmerta decided not to hold them to it.

With the students gone, the teachers made for the door and, discovering it frozen shut, departed through the broken window instead. After a moment's indecision, Rosmerta followed, intending to defend her town while her assistant remained behind to defend her pub.

Outside, it was so dark that Rosmerta might have guessed it was midnight rather than early evening, but she resisted the urge to light her wand. The sleeting rain was freezing cold in a way that neither her cloak nor a hastily performed warming charm could resist and her skin soon turned numb, but she hurried onward regardless, heading toward the sound of screams and the occasional glint of silver.

Her jewel encrusted heels were perfectly suited to tending her pub, thanks to a few cushioning charms, but almost useless for traversing ice, which was what the ground had become, so after nearly slipping and turning her ankle, Rosmerta knelt down and clumsily pulled them off. As she continued, she could vaguely feel that the ice was sharp and wondered if she might cut herself, but soon that sensation disappeared. For all she knew, her feet might have turned to ice.

Rosmerta thought she was still some distance from the conflict when someone ran headlong into her, knocking them both to the ground. The stranger got up and dashed off without bothering to apologize or help her to her feet, but she didn't have to wonder why for long because moments later a concentration of cold passed by, catching in her chest and chilling her in a way that the ice below her never could.

Pulling herself off the ground, Rosmerta peered through the rain and saw several dark shapes running in no particular direction, sometimes pursued by darker shapes.

A few people, the too brave and too desperate and much too eager, were trying to help, but in the confusion and chaos they seemed to be doing more harm than good. Their spells had no effect on the Dementors and often hit their fellow wizards instead.

Abruptly, Rosmerta realized that the dim light of random spells that she'd been watching by had been blocked out and a patch of cold was bearing down on her. Before she'd had time to react, her arms began to move outside of her control: something too dark to see had grabbed her but she was so numb that she couldn't feel the sensation on her skin. She smelled rotting flesh and heard a cold, rattling breath, then something silver jumped on her assailant and the Dementor cringed away. Rosmerta blinked and saw a brilliant patronus in the shape of a monkey attacking the Dementor, pulling and biting and scratching everywhere it could reach.

Rosmerta looked around and saw a student, who'd once introduced himself as Colin Creevey, watching the patronus intently, and when the Dementor finally gave up under the onslaught and retreated, Colin directed it to the next one.

Perhaps it was the Dementors and the way that the echoing memories of dozens of angry wizards whom she'd cut off one drink too late was getting harder to ignore, but Rosmerta was beginning to wonder what use she could possibly be here. She'd never encountered a Dementor in her life and hadn't used her wand for anything more involved than breaking up a bar fight in years. Even Colin Creevey was better off in this fight than she was, but as she watched him direct his patronus to the next Dementor, a spell that she couldn't tell was stray or intentional struck him in the back of the head and he crumpled to the ground, his patronus evaporating mid leap.

Rosmerta rushed to his side, joined by another student she recognized as Colin's brother but whose name escaped her. He began shaking his brother and begging him to wake up, but after a few moments of that Rosmerta pushed him aside and tried the few healing spells she knew.

"Help me get him up," she said when those proved ineffective.

Fortunately, Colin had a small stature and they were able to keep him supported, even weakened as they were by the Dementors and the cold.

"Are there many more students around?" Rosmerta asked as they struggled forward, searching for a teacher or at least a safe place to put Colin until this was over.

"I don't know," the brother replied. "Harry came running past before, warning everyone not to go back to Hogwarts, but I don't know where they went instead."

"Students!" Rosmerta shouted, knowing it was probably futile; she'd almost had to yell just to make sure Colin's brother could hear her. "Students, you need to get to Saint Mungo's! Come to me and I'll find you a Portkey!"

"You can't make one?" the brother asked.

Rosmerta let her silence answer for her, but simultaneously vowed to take a few classes at Hogwarts to refresh her memory if she made it out of this.

Suddenly, something bright and silver and shaped like a bear came barreling toward them, scattering Dementors as it went. Squinting, Rosmerta could barely make out its caster across the square. She could count the number of times she'd seen him on one hand, but there was simply no mistaking the silhouette of the barkeeper of the Hog's Head.

They'd never spoken in all the time since she'd acquired the Three Broomsticks. In fact, as far as Rosmerta had ever heard, the man didn't have a name, but as the owners of the only two pubs in Hogsmeade they'd long since come to an agreement: make no attempt to attract the other's clientele, stay of his business, and he'll do the same for you. It was a simple accord that had served them well over the years and ensured the prosperity of both pubs while allowing for a minimum amount of communication between the two barkeeps, but at that moment Rosmerta couldn't think of a single person on the planet who she'd be more grateful to see.

However, as soon as she decided that, her verdict changed again. The Dementors were beginning to regroup, and with the barkeeper occupied elsewhere they were swarming around her, Colin, and the brother.

Rosmerta tried to summon a patronus but had never managed it before and couldn't do it now. She tried to call for help but couldn't yell loud enough for anyone to hear. Voices were ringing in her head and a sharp ache in her legs was the only reason she knew she'd dropped to her knees. She hoped Colin hadn't hit the ground too hard when she dropped him. Her cheek suddenly felt cold and she realized she'd slipped to her stomach. The voices were getting louder. If Colin's brother could cast a patronus surely he would have done it by now. The darkness was different: this wasn't struggling to see, this was blindness. She couldn't see, she couldn't feel. The last thing she heard was her parents, yelling that she'd never amount to anything if she became a barkeeper.

------------

"I'll show you," Rosmerta whispered. Her tongue felt sleepy.

"I suppose you will," said a cheerful female voice from nearby, but it didn't belong to her Mum. She wasn't where she thought she was.

"What happened?" Forcing her eyes open was a struggle but she managed it, though only for a moment. She saw enough to recognize the ceiling of a treatment room in Saint Mungo's before she had to shut her eyes or go blind.

"You got yourself surrounded by Dementors is what happened," the Healer replied. No word seemed to come from the same direction as the last, it was very dizzying. "No use in trying to stand up to those creatures," she continued, "best just to leave while you have the chance, I always say. Can you sit up?"

It took Rosmerta a moment to realize that the last statement had been a request and not advice, but she did as she was bidden, finally opening her eyes again to see that the lights had been dimmed to a more comfortable level.

"Drink these," the Healer ordered, placing a tray with vials of potion in front of her.

"How did I get here?" Rosmerta asked as she reached for a vial, but pausing to examine her hands instead, which had been wrapped in gloves of gauze.

"Just appeared in the lobby," the Healer replied, oblivious to Rosmerta's struggle to grasp the vials of potion. "We've gotten hundreds of people doing that over the past few hours, some hurt, some not, just students needing a safe place to go while Hogwarts-"

"Then it wasn't just Hogsmeade?" Rosmerta interrupted.

"Heavens no," the Healer chortled. "Most are saying those Dementors were just a distraction, but they got taken care of alright. That Aberforth is really something, might not be half as powerful as his brother, but he can still put most to shame."

"You mean the owner of the Hog's Head?" Rosmerta asked, wondering if she'd just learned his named. Finally pinning the vial between both hands, she forced down her potion.

"Of course," the Healer laughed. "Aberforth Dumbledore."

It was fortunate that Rosmerta had already finished swallowing, for she probably would have choked on anything she was drinking at that moment.

Noting her reaction, the Healer said, "I would have thought that you out of everyone would know who he is."

Rosmerta simply shook her head, unable to put her surprise into words.

"Well, I suppose he does tend to keep to himself," the Healer continued, handing Rosmerta a piece of chocolate. "You'll be glad to hear that Hogsmeade has been cleared of Dementors."

Rosmerta nodded again, taking a bite of the chocolate and letting it warm her.

"Is Colin Creevey alright?" she asked, abruptly remembering how she'd gotten pinned down by Dementors in the first place.

"Yes, yes, he's fine," the Healer replied dismissively. "Got sent here at the same time as you."

"And his brother?" Rosmerta pressed.

"Dennis?" the Healer asked. Rosmerta nodded, wondering why she hadn't been able to remember the name in the first place. "Not a scratch on him. I have to check on some other patients," she continued, heading for the door. "Keep off your feet; you've done quite a number on them."

"Wait," Rosmerta called. "What about Hogwarts?"

The Healer sobered for the first time since Rosmerta woke up.

"They're still fighting, but I hear things aren't going well."


	3. The Story of the Groundskeeper

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.

**Chapter 3: The Story of the Groundskeeper**

With a heave, Hagrid lifted a fallen tree trunk back onto its stump and watched in appreciation as the gaping wound slowly healed itself. There was no perceptible sign from the tree, but Hagrid liked to think that he could sense the gratitude emanating from the flora he'd healed.

It had been months since the weather and the forest had allowed him down this path, most days he could hardly make if far enough into the forest to see Grawp, and he'd already lost count of how many fallen trees and crushed bushes he'd helped.

Releasing the tree slowly to ensure that it could support its own weight, Hagrid moved on to the next one, adjusting the lay of the unloaded crossbow on his back and the quiver of arrows at his hip. He hadn't thought it necessary to bring it along, but eventually his sense of prudence had won out: certainly the centaurs, already unhappy with humans, had grown especially frustrated after months of rarely being able to see the stars. Now he was beginning to wonder why he'd bothered: he hadn't seen hide or hair of any living beast aside from himself and Fang since they'd entered the forest.

There was no mistaking Fang's joy at being in the forest again, or outside at all, and Hagrid had to admit that he felt the same. For months they, but Fang especially, had been cooped up in Hagrid's cabin, growing increasingly cross with each other. Hagrid couldn't recall how it started, but one of their only comforts had been a match of wits to see who could find the most subtle ways to annoy the other. That had culminated a few nights previous, when Fang settled on Hagrid's bed and refused to allow himself to be removed no matter what dire consequences he was threatened with. Eventually, Hagrid had no choice but to lie down on top of Fang. The next morning he'd woken to find his dog back in his usual bed and the pair had shaken on an uneasy truce.

Now, however, Fang was as happy as Hagrid had ever seen him. He was barking and jumping as he playfully gave chase to insects and the odd pixie, just barely remaining close enough to give the impression that he was still heeding Hagrid's command to heel.

Even though he'd suspected that it was too good to last, when it started raining again Hagrid couldn't help but glare up at the sky with exacerbation. Fang seemed to be of similar mind. He started growling with some menace, though whether the sentiment was directed at the sky for having the audacity to start leaking again, Hagrid to warn him against considering going back to the cabin, or the nearest pixie for tugging his tail, was unclear. In any case, Hagrid didn't want to return to his cabin any more than Fang did and he could see more than enough trees in need of his help, so he simply shook his head to clear the water from his eyebrows and continued on.

It grew dark quickly, but not unusually so, judging by the severity of the storm. Hagrid's pink umbrella was perfectly suited to his typical brand of magic but entirely unequal to a water repelling charm or even shielding its owner the way it was originally designed to, and Hagrid was beginning to wonder if he'd made a mistake in deciding to stay when the storm started.

He had just elected to turn back when there was a thunderous series of approaching crashes that ended somewhere to his right and a shout, barely audible above the noise of the rain.

"What have you done?" 

It wasn't a student or an Acromantula. A centaur, perhaps.

Pocketing his umbrella and taking up his crossbow instead, Hagrid made his way to the disturbance, a slightly less resolved Fang trailing him.

Along the way they were passed by a group of five centaurs, all armed with bows and arrows. Hagrid hurried to follow.

When they all stopped, it took Hagrid a moment to realize why. He'd be expecting, or perhaps hoping, for the danger to be manageable, something he'd encountered before, not a fully grown Chimera, a fearsome beast, two stories tall and with a lion, goat, and snake head projecting from various places.

At first Hagrid was struck, not by fear, but by awe at the sight of the rare creature he'd only seen illustrations of, vague sketches based on word of mouth descriptions from ancient times. And there Hagrid stood, facing one in real living color, the most magnificent beast he'd ever seen. How he wished he could speak with it, learn about its life and its species, but then he remembered why an accurate picture of a Chimera was so rare: because those who got close enough to observe the beat in detail rarely lived to tell someone else. Now one was standing here, in the forest, less than a mile from Hogwarts' front door and a school full of students that the Chimera would gladly tear limb from limb. It had already made several attempts on the surrounding centaurs.

For their part, the centaurs had already assembled the largest group Hagrid had ever seen at once and they were sending a near constant stream of arrows up at the Chimera. However, the arrows seemed to be having almost no effect: it was a rare hit that did not simply glance of the beat's thick fur and an ever rarer one that seemed to cause it any pain. Still, wishing he could find a way to send the creature away from Hogwarts without hurting it but seeing no other option, Hagrid armed his crossbow, took aim at one of the lion head's eyes, and let fly. It ducked at just the right moment and the arrow grazed one of the goat head's ears instead. It gave a bleat of annoyance but no outward sign of pain.

Unfazed and steadily forgetting his sympathy for the Chimera as he watched the destruction it was causing, Hagrid reloaded and tried again, but his next five shots met similar ends and the centaurs weren't having any better luck. The Chimera was simply too well protected by that same ancient magic that defended dragons. Maybe they could put an end to the Chimera if they had an equivalent number of fully realized wizards, but as things stood they didn't seem to have much of a chance.

What's more, the centaurs' numbers were steadily decreasing as the Chimera made a series of sudden and unpredictable attacks, lashing out with one or more of its three heads and four paws and always leaving at least one centaur bleeding on the ground.

Hagrid hadn't been anticipating this sort of conflict when he left his cabin that morning but as he reached for his next arrow his was surprised and dismayed to discover that he'd already used most of his supply. He hoped he'd think of a better plan by the time he ran out.

He was fitting an arrow to his crossbow when something unexpected happened: the Chimera experienced a sudden jerk, as though it was being pulled backwards by a force outside of its control. Peering through the rain and trees in search of the source of that force, Hagrid was amazed and dismayed to see that Grawp had caught hold of the snake head around its neck. As Hagrid watched, Grawp struck the snake's head against the nearest tree with a resounding crack. It wasn't clear whether the noise came from the tree or the snake's skull, but, in either case, when Grawp released it, the snake flopped to the ground, stunned or dead.

Hagrid was so surprised that his hand loosened on the crossbow before he had properly secured the trigger. He hadn't been aiming at anything in particular, but it struck true anyway, embedding itself deep in the Chimera's nearest foot.

The lion head gave a yelp of pain as it lifted the wounded foot and when it gingerly placed it back on the ground Hagrid was visited by a flash of realization.

"We have to aim fer the feet!" he exclaimed, turning for the nearest centaur, who, most unluckily, happened to be Bane.

"The feet, you say," Bane replied, stubbornly taking aim at the lion's nose.

"Yes, the feet!" Hagrid said frantically. "All together, an' quickly, while he's still distracted."

"And why should we listen to you?" Bane maintained stuffily.

"Do yeh want this creature outta the forest or not?" Hagrid demanded. "Am I too much of a wizard fer yeh ter listen to? Do I have to get Grawp ter ask? Or Fang?" 

Bane glanced at Fang, who'd been cowering behind the nearest tree, with some distain, but it was clear that his resolve was failing.

"It's bound to work better 'n what we been tryin'," Hagrid added.

Bane shook his head in a resigned sort of way and shouted, "Fire on its left front paw. Now!"

A moment later the paw in question was a pin cushion and the lion and goat heads cried out in pain.

"Right front paw, now!"

The other paw was soon struck by fifty arrows and the Chimera rocked unsteadily on its hind legs.

"Left back paw-"

"Stop!" the Chimera pleaded in an eerily echoing voice as the lion and goat spoke the same words but not quite in unison.

"Why should we," Bane returned. "You invaded our forest."

"We will leave!" the Chimera replied.

"How do we know you will not return," Bane demanded.

"We did not know pain," the Chimera said. "You have shown it to us and we do not want to know it again. You have proven yourselves stronger than us."

Bane remained motionless for a moment, eying the lion head, then he loosened his bow. Around him, the other centaurs and Hagrid did the same.

"Very well. You will be escorted to the edge of our forest. Know that if you do return we will not hesitate to show you more pain."

"We understand," the Chimera replied, turning to hobble after a centaur, which was leading it deeper into the forest so that it could leave without passing Hogwarts. The snake head was dragging behind it like a dead thing. Another ten centaurs followed.

When the Chimera had disappeared, the centaurs turned to help their wounded while Hagrid sought out Grawp.

"Good work," Hagrid said, patting his brother's hand. "We couldn' have done it without yeh."

But Grawp was looking at his hand as though he hadn't realized that it was still there. Concerned, Hagrid paused to inspect the limb as well and discovered that Grawp's hand, already massive, had nearly doubled in size. His own hands shaking, Hagrid spent a minute fumbling through his overcoat for a candle before locating his umbrella instead. Heart racing, he broke the tip off his final arrow and lit the shaft with a tap from his umbrella. It only took him a moment to locate two round holes in the palm of Grawp's hand.

"Yeh've been bitten," Hagrid explained, taking hold of Grawp's good hand and giving it a tug. "We've got ter get yeh ter Madam Pomphrey."

Grawp didn't object, but he only managed to take a few steps before collapsing to his knees with a ground shaking thud.

"Come on, Grawp," Hagrid said with another tug. "We've got ter get ter the castle."

But it was obvious that, although Grawp desperately wanted to follow Hagrid's advice, he simply couldn't go any further. The poison had advanced too far.

By now, all the centaurs present had become aware of their plight, but it was Bane who approached.

"He will not be able to reach the castle."

"He has to," Hagrid countered with a sniff. "I just have ter think of a way."

"We have healers as well," Bane continued. "They're already on their way here."

"They ever treated a Chimera bite before?" Hagrid pressed.

"They have not," Bane replied, "but neither, I think, has your Madam Pomphrey. There are many snakes in the forest and our healers are skilled. They will find a cure." 

"Yeh only treat yer own kind," Hagrid sighed. "Yeh've made that clear."

"The giant led to the defeat of the Chimera," Bane replied. "That is not something we will soon forget."

"Why should I trust yeh?"

"We trusted you and it saved our forest," Bane said. "Trust us and we will save your brother."

"Fine," Hagrid said. "Grawp, the nice centaurs are gonna take care o' yeh. An' if they don' then do ter them what yeh did ter that snake."

"Ordinarily our medicine is not for human eyes," Bane continued, looking slightly ruffled by Hagrid's last statement. "But if you wish to stay I believe we could make an exception. However-" he paused and seemed to battle with himself, "what we could read of the stars indicates a great conflict, and soon. You may wish to keep near your castle."

"There's trouble at the castle?" Hagrid asked, bewildered.

"If it hasn't begun yet, then it won't be long," Bane confirmed.

"Then I should go," Hagrid said, giving Grawp one last desperate look. "'Ere Fang."

He was so distracted by his worry for Grawp and Bane's warning about Hogwarts that Hagrid didn't realize that the Ministry needed to be informed that there was a Chimera in the area until he reached the edge of the forest. It wasn't something he wanted to do, considering the Ministry's tendency toward killing dangerous beasts, but there were a few small towns in the general vicinity, some of them Muggle, and the Chimera had only sworn to the safety of the Forbidden Forest.

Hagrid reached his cabin a few minutes later and lit a fire in the hearth while Fang proceeded to soak everything else while shaking the water out of his fur.

With some reluctance, Hagrid kneeled in front of the fire, tossed in a pinch of floo powder, shouted, "Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," and plunged his head in.

Nothing happened. Hagrid's head remained in his fire while he got a prime view of the back wall of his hearth and inhaled a large amount of hot ash. Perplexed, he pulled his head out and tried again with the same result. It wasn't until a minute later that he realized the floo network must have been shut off and that the only reason to shut off the floo network was if Hogwarts was in immediate danger.

Jumping to his feet, Hagrid raced outside to look at Hogwarts properly. There was no outward difference that he could define, but there was something ominous about it, maybe in the way the light flickered in the windows, but Hagrid was suddenly certain that there was something far more serious going on than a Chimera in the Forbidden Forest. Without giving it a second thought, Hagrid ran toward the castle as fast as he could.

He never reached it. Hagrid couldn't have been more than ten paces from the front steps when the entire castle suddenly disappeared and he found himself unexpectedly ankle deep in the flooding lake, as though he'd only imagined that a huge castle separated the two positions. Surprised and confused, Hagrid turned back and found Hogwarts looking just as solid as ever, but when he approached again the same thing happened, as though he'd Apparated from one side to the other. But Apparating on Hogwarts' grounds was impossible, and he'd never gotten his license.

Turning back again, Hagrid was dismayed to discover that the majestic castle he'd called home for more than fifty years had been suddenly and mercilessly reduced to a battered ruin.

"No!" Hagrid whispered, sinking weakly to his knees and closing his eyes, unable to look.

He'd failed, he wasn't fast enough, he'd wasted his time in the forest, never once considering that the school might be in danger as well. Now it was too late and they were all gone, the school and the teachers and the students. With a horrible jolt, Hagrid realized that he was actually grateful that Dumbledore hadn't lived to see this. Just the idea of the old Headmaster's disappointment was enough to make Hagrid's insides squirm.

Sill unable to look at the castle itself, Hagrid opened his eyes and stared as his knees, then noticed something unexpected; he was sliding slowly backwards through the mud. Wondering if this was some final enchantment the Founders had placed on the school to ensure that it would never be found again if it was destroyed, Hagrid finally looked up to gaze upon the castle one last time and found it undamaged and just as majestic as ever.

Hagrid didn't wait for his mind to catch up, for the confusion or explanation it would surely bring; he simply got up and ran toward Hogwarts as fast as the invisible force that was still trying to push him away would let him. This time, the castle didn't disappear as he approached or turn to rubble before his eyes. It held firm as be barreled up the steps and through the door.

After seeing so many conflicting images of Hogwarts, Hagrid hadn't been sure what to expect inside, but what he found was the Entrance Hall. It had clearly come off worse in some fight but was whole if not entirely in one piece. Hagrid allowed himself a ragged sigh of relief before running up the stairs.

He snuck up on the first group of Death Eaters he found and knocked them all out easily without even troubling himself with his umbrella. He continued this way for some time, summarily laying waste to any Death Eaters he came across, sometimes taking advice from portraits and ghosts about their locations but mostly ignoring them in favor of searching out the Death Eaters himself. Sometimes he earned himself a few cuts and bruises, but he always came off better than his opponents in the end.

Hagrid didn't consciously expend any attention on figuring out what he'd seen outside of Hogwarts earlier, but eventually he realized the obvious explanation anyway: what he'd seen had been the result of someone's fiddling with the wards around Hogwarts. It made him so angry to think of Dumbledore's cunningly constructed wards being violated in such as way that he threw the next Death Eater against a wall with far more force than he'd originally intended.

Hagrid was in such a state of battle rage that he lost all sense of time and some of space, so he was a bit surprised to find himself face to face with Professor McGonagall and a few others on the fourth floor.

"Come with us, Hagrid," she said, turning toward the staircase. "We're abandoning Hogwarts."

"We can'!" Hagrid gasped, turning to follow her nevertheless.

"We can and we are," she replied sharply, sounding as though she'd had this argument several times already.

"Bu'… the students," Hagrid stammered.

"Are already safe in Saint Mungo's," McGonagall said.

Fresh out of arguments, Hagrid followed her down the stairs.

"Alright there, Hagrid?" Bill asked, falling into step beside him.

"Fine," Hagrid grunted, though he nearly revised what opinion when he followed Bill's gaze to his own arms and chest, which were cut and bleeding in many more places than he remembered getting injured. "Why don't we take a Portkey from 'ere?" 

"We're trying to take down as many Death Eaters as we can before we go," Bill explained as they turned a corner and paused to do exactly that. "Hopefully it will be easier to take Hogwarts back when we can muster the force together. I trust you approve."

Hagrid did, but couldn't voice the opinion because they'd just engaged another group of Death Eaters. It was odd. Hagrid could have sworn he'd already cleared these corridors, but either he hadn't been as thorough as he thought, or there were far more Death Eaters in Hogwarts than he'd supposed. Either way, it was clear that that McGonagall had been correct in her decision to abandon Hogwarts. Loathe as Hagrid was to admit it, they simply couldn't regain control of the castle with their tiny group.

They reached the grounds a bit the worse for the wear, but not nearly as much as the Death Eaters they'd encountered. Hagrid offered up a kettle that happened to be in his coat pocket to use as a Portkey and they all rode it to Saint Mungo's.

McGonagall disappeared almost immediately upon arriving, presumably to seek out the students, leaving Hagrid and the others in a crowd of very loud people. Eventually they found their way to a few Healers, who led them away to see to their injuries.

Hagrid's cuts were healed easily enough, but the Healers said that the damage was extensive enough to make him stay for observation, effectively dashing Hagrid's intentions of returning to the Forbidden Forest to check on Grawp. Hagrid supposed that Grawp was in good hands with centaurs, although he wished that he'd thought to stress the importance of good behavior before leaving. However, when word filtered back to Hagrid that Harry and Ron were still in Hogwarts, nothing could stop him from departing immediately to rescue them. Nothing, that was, except for five simultaneous stunning charms, which was precisely the method the Healers used.


	4. The Story of the Auror

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.

**Chapter 4: The Story of the Auror**

"Take if off, old man."

Remus tried to look exacerbated as he leaned over to pull off his sock and throw it on the table, but there was no real force behind it. He knew as well as she did that he'd lost that round, the same way he'd lost both his shoes. Tonks might have suggested to Remus that he consider his opponents before agreeing to raise the stakes in their game of poker, but she knew that it would be so endearingly funny to watch him worry about what he'd have to take off next that she'd held her tongue.

There was a rather unprecedented upset a hand later when Remus called Dung's bluff and took back his sock, which was replaced with Dung's shoe. The shoe hadn't been in the pot for more than thirty seconds, however, when Tonks, Remus, and Shacklebolt hit it with smell reducing charms almost simultaneously. Even with those in place, they were all quite grateful when Dung won it back. Tonks suspected that Shacklebolt may have facilitated that by folding on a hand that he otherwise might have won.

However, by far the most exciting transaction of the game occurred two hands later, when Remus lost rather spectacularly, and having already been relieved of his shoes and socks, had only his robes left to lose. Dung, who only upheld the rules when they didn't work to his detriment, was predictably eying Remus, waiting for him to get on with it. Shacklebolt was taking a drink from his coffee cup, but hadn't dealt the next hand yet, so was almost certainly waiting for the same thing as Dung. Remus, however, was looking at Tonks with a very hopeful expression, which left her in a rather prickly situation indeed.

Tonks had the unfortunate distinction of being the only one among them who knew exactly why Remus didn't want to take his robes off. Several months previous, an unexpected call to arms had forced them both to change from wizard robes to Muggle clothes in the same room. Remus had respectfully kept his back turned the entire time, but curiosity had attracted Tonks' attention to her companion. She'd counted fifteen scars on Remus' back before he pulled a shirt on. She had no intention of being the one to force him to put the rest of them on display. Still, some form of punishment was required, he'd been foolish enough to try and call Shacklebolt out of a bluff when he'd only had a pair of twos himself.

"You know," Tonks began idly, "those dishes don't do themselves."

Remus blinked, surprise etching his features, and Tonks knew he'd caught her meaning. Dung, however, was not quite so quick.

"What're yeh remindin' us for? Yeh're not evin allowed ter do 'em yerself, yeh broke so many o' them plates already."

"No more than you've stolen," Tonks scowled, forgetting herself, but Dung had touched a nerve.

"What do you say I do the dishes tonight," Remus suggested rapidly, before things got out of hand, "instead of having to take my robes off."

Dung and even Shacklebolt were looking unconvinced, so Tonks chimed in.

"I think robes are worth at least a week's worth of dishes."

Now it was Remus' turn to scowl.

"Fine," he muttered. "Deal the next hand."

It took a significant amount of self control for Tonks to mask her laughter when she deduced that Remus intended to reduce that sentence by winning a few hands.

However, she never got to find out just how many chores they could stick Remus with. Scarcely had the next hand been dealt when a ghostly silver cat leapt up on the table.

All at once, Tonks was no longer a witch enjoying a game of cards with her friends, she was an Auror, and the transformation was as dramatic as if she'd used her Metamorphmagus talents to change her face. Not even pausing long enough to right the chair she'd toppled as she stood, Tonks bounded out of the room.

That patronus was a cat, which meant that it came from Professor McGonagall, which meant that it came from Hogwarts. The list of reasons why the situation could be so bad that McGonagall wouldn't even have time to send her message via firecall was only one item long: Hogwarts was under attack. The list of reasons why Voldemort would attack Hogwarts was exceedingly short as well: Harry was there and Voldemort wished to end things once and for all.

The wizarding world had been at war in one form or another for Tonks' entire career as an Auror, so her brain began to analyze what she knew of the situation almost without her input. Loathe as she was to admit it, she had to admire Voldemort's timing. After two weeks without a single battle they'd begun to think the war was on hiatus, and now the Order was spread out beyond almost any hope of a speedy recovery. They should have known better, but all they could do now was organize everyone they could as quickly as possible.

She heard a soft pop as Shacklebolt Disapparated. Fortunately, she didn't need to ask to know that he'd gone to alert the Ministry and gather the Aurors.

Tonks grabbed the pot of Floo Powder off the mantle, dropped to her knees in front of the fire, and thrust a pinch of Floo Powder and her head into the flame. Her head emerged in the lobby of Saint Mungo's'

"Hey!" she yelled to the blissfully unaware people bustling about on their usual business, as was large ignored.

"I need some help!" she tried again, this time choosing the phrase that she knew would attract the most attention in a hospital.

Predictably, a passing Healer hurried over and asked, "Is someone hurt?"

"Someone's going to be," Tonks replied, "come down here." Quite aside from not wanting to cause a panic by shouting her next piece of information, she was rapidly growing tired of having to crane her neck to see anything above the Healer's knees.

"What's going on?" he asked, squatting down next to her.

"Hogwarts is being attacked, there's going to be a battle. You need to tell whoever's in charge so you'll be ready."

"We already know," the Healer replied.

"You what?" Tonks stumbled, thunderstruck.

"Professor McGonagall sent a message through the portrait of Dily Derwent," the Healer explained.

"Oh," Tonks breathed gratefully.

"Do what you need to do, we'll be ready here," the Healer assured her.

"Thanks," Tonks replied, feeling bolstered.

The feeling, however, was short lived, for the ease with which she had completed her first task was no gauge of how the rest of the battle would proceed. Without any further delay, Tonks pulled her head out of the fire.

She was reaching for her next pinch of Floo Powder when Remus said, "Let me do that, you need to get ready."

"That was Saint Mungo's," Tonks agreed.

"This is Hestia Jones," Remus replied, casting a final patronus.

Tonks felt a sudden pang as they traded places. Granted firecalls were more involved than sending out patronuses, but he'd made it more than half way through his list, while she'd only managed to contact one location. Still, neither one of them had time for expressions of either apology or gratitude.

Tonks hurried up the stairs to where the robes for her disguise were kept, casting patronuses as she went. Dividing her attention whilst running was usually a risky business, but she managed the trip without any serious mishaps.

Still casting patronuses, Tonks dedicated all the attention she could spare to pulling out a set of black Death Eater robes they'd captured along with Adrian Pucey several months previous. She always hated wearing these robes. No matter how many times she washed them, they still stank of blood and death and grime and made her wonder what atrocious acts their previous owner had committed while wearing them, but they were a necessary part of her disguise, and when she'd set off her last patronus she shrugged them on as quickly as she could.

When Tonks returned downstairs, tripping occasionally over the hem of a set of robes that wouldn't fit properly until she'd transformed her appearance, several people had already gathered in the living room and entrance way, but she was only interested in one of them. Remus was still kneeling with his head in the fire, so she knelt down beside him and placed a hand on his back to announce her presence. He responded by squeezing her knee.

Time was growing short, so it was fortunate that it only took Remus a minute to finish his conversation and pull his head out of the fire.

"I have to go," Tonks began, watching him study her face and robes.

"I know," Remus replied.

"This could be it," Tonks added, hoping it was true. Life as an Auror during a war had taught her to think of every day as her last, because it very well could be, but that was an exhausting philosophy and one she would happily reject when the war was over so she could finally get on with things.

"Seems like it," Remus said, gazing at her with such intensity that she began to wonder how much of her internal debate she had allowed to creep onto her face.

But the time had really and truly run out now, so, needing to hurry things along, Tonks leaned forward and kissed him. He responded with the gentle passion that usually marked these sorts of exchanges, communicating the goodbye that they never spoke aloud, just in case. It nearly made Tonks reconsider her next move, but in the end she simply could resist and set the few scraps of her mind that weren't currently occupied by their kiss to the task.

They pulled apart and Tonks opened her eyes just in time to watch Remus' reaction to her new appearance: a rank and file Death Eater. He yelped and jumped away before his senses caught up with him. Honestly, if his reactions weren't so cute she probably would have given up the trick by now, but even after six goes she still managed to catch him unawares.

"Be careful," Remus shot after Tonks as she stood to go.

"Don't die," Tonks replied.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Remus returned, turning back to the fire.

Without another word, Tonks school her features, readied her wand, and Apparated to Hogsmeade.

Her destination was a short distance from the Forbidden Forest, near the Shrieking Shack and far from the center of the village. As it transpired, this was a fortunate decision, for at the moment of her arrival, Hogsmeade was falling victim to an increasing downpour of rain, but nothing more sinister than that, and it was not her job to cause a panic or give a warning. Anyway, with rain came Dementors, and within a few minutes Hogsmeade already had all the warning it would get and all the panic it could handle.

Knowing that she would get no better chance to pass through the village unnoticed, Tonks started forward, running somewhat unsteadily on her long and unfamiliar legs. She nearly pulled up short when next she looked up from her feet and saw that Hogsmeade was putting up a woefully minimal resistance. If that was everyone present who could cast a patronus, then there weren't nearly enough of them. These Dementors were looking for souls, and if things continued this way then someone was going to get kissed.

Tonks nearly stopped to help, disguises be damned. She was an Auror; this is what she'd signed up to do, to defend the innocent when they couldn't defend themselves. That was what she would be doing if the war hadn't gotten in the way.

She stood frozen for a moment, teetering between saving Hogsmeade and saving Hogwarts, but in the end her stalemate was broken by an outside force.

"You coming or what?"

Tonks spun around to face the speaker and nearly forgot that she wasn't allowed to look surprised when she saw an impatient looking Death Eater. Behind him were three more Death Eaters, all looking unnaturally worn out and depressed, which led Tonks to suspect that it might have been these who guided the Dementors to Hogsmeade. How they had enough happy thoughts between them to do anything of the sort was quite beyond her, but someone had to have been responsible.

"Hey, are you listening to me?"

"What?" Tonks asked with a genuine start. "Er, no, it's these damn Dementors."

"Yeah, don't I know it," the Death Eater agreed. "What's your name?"

"Moriarty," Tonks replied immediately. It was a name she'd found in one of her Father's books and had taken to using as an alias among the Death Eaters. Interestingly, she had yet to meet a Death Eater familiar with Sherlock Holmes."

"I'm Dolohov," the Death Eater replied. "You got a first name, Moriarty?"

"Calyn," Tonks supplied. "Was it you who cursed that Granger girl a few years back?" Even playing a Death Eater, Tonks was unwilling to call Hermione a Mudblood.

"It was," Dolohov said, looking sickeningly proud. "Did you get lost?"

"Yeah," Tonks admitted convincingly. "I forgot where I was supposed to go, so I came here, thought it would be the best place to find someone."

"Pretty and stupid," Dolohov laughed. "You can stand by me."

Tonks' wand hand twitched, but the sleeves of her robes were still a bit long and he seemed not to notice.

"We're headed to Hogsmeade Station, if you'd like to-"

Tired of his patronizing, Tonks didn't wait for him to finish, she simply Disapparated.

She appeared immediately on the platform of Hogsmeade station with Dolohov a few seconds behind her.

"Now see here!" Dolohov exclaimed.

"Aren't we supposed to be getting to Hogwarts?" Tonks interrupted before he could begin his rant.

"Fine," he replied gruffly. "Gents, lady, in we go."

Trailing the group by a few paces, it was a moment before Tonks realized that Dolohov was referring to the lake. He intended to swim across, and expected them to follow. Fleetingly, Tonks considered Apparating back to Grimmauld place for a Portkey, but if she disappeared now she would only raise the suspicions of this group of Death Eaters and make things even more difficult for herself on the inside, so, steeling herself, she dove in after them.

The lake was vast, the water was cold, the rain was dense, the robes were heavy, and her bubble-head charm was out of practice, but Tonks swam doggedly on. She longed to kick off her shoes and swim at least somewhat unencumbered, but dared not, she'd need them for running, although that was rapidly becoming a moot point. At this rate, by the time they reached shore she might just have enough energy to heave herself out of the water, although, to her benefit, the Death Eaters didn't seem to be fairing much better. Tonks made a mental note to suggest that swimming be added to Auror training and the recommended daily exercises of the Auror ranks. She certainly wouldn't have minded having the benefit of knowing beforehand just how energy consuming it is to swim while fully clothed.

They had to have been at least half way across the lake by now, though it was difficult to judge. Tonks hadn't taken this round since she was a first year, when she rode a boat from the train to Hogwarts at the beginning of the term and back again at the end. Now she was swimming that way as a Death Eater, or looking like one, at least. If Remus was here, he might have remarked on the poetic symmetry of the situation, and she might have dunked him and his iambic pentameter. This was no time for symbology; this was a time for swimming.

They were nearing the end, now. One of the Death Eaters ahead, no doubt longing for dry land just as much as Tonks, had lit his wand for a split second and in the dizzying flash of light Tonks had caught a glimpse of the bottom of the lake, not two meters below them. Five minutes later they'd all washed up on shore.

The land wasn't particularly dry, thanks to the rain, but it was solid and Tonks wasn't feeling very picky beyond that. After allowing her rubbery limbs a few moments to recover, Tonks forced herself to crawl to the relative shelter and seclusion of the nearby beech tree. It wasn't until she was there and certain she was alone that Tonks finally removed her bubble-head charm. She'd discovered during Auror training that having her attention entirely on her movements, especially for long periods of time, tended to do strange things to her appearance. She'd eventually trained herself to avoid the problem, but swimming wasn't something she was accustomed to and the last thing she needed was for the Death Eaters to catch her looking like someone else or wearing two noses and three eyeballs. However, a quick inspection revealed that her disguise had made it through the swim unscathed. Not even her hair had changed color.

When Dolohov came by a minute later, Tonks still wasn't feeling quite up for joining the fight, but was in no position to ask for more time, so she gamely allowed him to pull her to her feet. Naturally, it was only then that she realized, somewhere along the way, her right leg had grown a bit longer than her left.

"Something wrong?" Dolohov sneered when she stumbled on her already fatigued and now mismatched legs.

"No," Tonks grunted, thinking fast. "My bloody leg's gone and seized up, is all."

"Not much of a swimmer, are you?" Dolohov said, watching as she leaned against the tree to stretch out her leg.

"Not really," Tonks replied. Of course, stretching her leg was entirely pointless, but she couldn't correct the real problem until Dolohov looked away. As her luck would have it, he didn't seem terribly inclined to do that.

"When's the last time you went swimming, anyway?"

"Not since before the war, and if you ask me what I was wearing I swear to Merlin I will curse you, Dark Lords and fights be damned," Tonks countered, anticipating his next question.

He looked for a moment like he might try and call her out of a bluff, but Tonks pulled out her wand and he seemed to think better of it.

"Let's go!" Dolohov called, turning to the castle and finally giving Tonks the chance to return her leg to its proper length.

The front doors offered no resistance, apparently having been forced open one time too many already. They also found no resistance in the Entrance Hall, at least not because of any defenders, though they still had a reason to stop.

The Entrance Hall was in shambles. If Tonks hadn't known better she might have wondered if they'd broken into the wrong castle. It looked as though some epic battle had taken place here. She wished she couldn't, but thanks to her Auror training, Tonks had only to look at the lay of the bodies to guess at how the two sides had arranged themselves, some of the strategies they'd used, and which side had one. She tried to distract herself by taking extra care when she dried her robes, but it was no use, Remus was supposed to have been one of the people defending the Entrance Hall.

"Will you look at this," Dolohov said, sounding awestruck, which was not at all the sort of inflection Tonks wanted to hear from him. Concerned, Tonks stopped searching the fallen, looking for Remus, and had to bite her tongue to keep herself from crying out when she saw who Dolohov had just kicked over: there was no mistaking that scarred old figure.

"Mad-Eye Moody," Dolohov said, sounding sickeningly gleeful. "Look where your constant vigilance has gotten you now. And to think we were almost beginning to believe that you wouldn't be caught dead at the wrong end of a killing curse."

He paused a moment to grin at his own joke.

"Who did this to you?" Dolohov continued, kneeling down next to Moody's body. "If only it could have been me. Thirteen years I spent in Azkaban thanks to you, now I don't even get to have my revenge. What do you know, he's still warm."

It was almost more than Tonks could stand, to watch as Moody, hero among the Aurors, her mentor, was spoken about in such a manner. More even than when Dolohov was making his ceaseless passes at her, Tonks wanted to drop her act and put an end to him. However, that would have been against her mission and therefore against what she'd learned as an Auror, an affront to what Moody stood for and something she simply couldn't do while his poor body was lying there in front of her.

"Shouldn't we be going?" Tonks prompted instead, her voice far less controlled than it should have been.

"Yeah, yeah," Dolohov agreed reluctantly, straightening up. "Come on, we've got places to be."

However, Dolohov was not quite finished yet. Tonks gasped and looked away, but was not quick enough to plug her ears against the sound of Dolohov's cruel kick to Moody's ribs. Fortunately, he, and the others who copied his movements as they passed, seemed to be enjoying themselves too much to notice her change in character.

Tonks was so shaken that she spent the next few minutes in a state of agitated distraction that would have made her quite useless had a situation arisen that required her attention. Try as she might to focus on where she was and what she was doing, she repeatedly found her thoughts turning inward. She was aware that Moody's undoing was not an isolated case, but was it the fate that awaited her? To spend decades in the service, then a few years in honest retirement only to be thrust back into action, then left behind by those on her own side, who were too busy fighting a war to deal with the dead, and then be defiled by her opposition. If she died there, that night, wearing the face of a Death Eater with a name stolen from a novel, would anyone recognize her as Nymphadora Tonks? Would she be buried in some mass Death Eater grave? Would her parents, would Remus, spend the rest of their lives wondering what happened to her? It was hardly the glorious fight for justice she'd imagined when she'd decided to join the Aurors.

Tonks snapped out of her reverie just long enough to see someone's head poke out of a hole in the ground behind a nearby suit of armor. Tonks blinked, wondering what she'd seen. The head had disappeared but the hole had not, and now that she'd had a moment to process the sight, Tonks was relatively certain that it had been Professor McGonagall's head before.

"I think I heard something!" Tonks hissed, pointing in a direction that would lead them away from the hole, rattling off the first reason for them to look away that came to mind.

She jogged ahead of the group as quietly as she could; trying to look as though she really was listening for something. Since she hadn't been paying attention on the way there, Tonks didn't know precisely where they were, but she turned down the nearest hallway, hoping that it wasn't a dead end. As quickly as she could, so the Death Eaters wouldn't notice her use of magic, Tonks flicked her wand, causing a door at the opposite end of the hall to open and slam shut. The sound echoed back just as the other Death Eaters rounded the corner to join her.

Entirely convinced now, the Death Eaters put on a burst of speed. Tonks, however, hung back and glanced behind her to find McGonagall and Remus watching her retreat. Tonks placed a finger to her lips, and then hurried to catch up with Dolohov and the others. When she did, they weren't in very good moods. They were searching all over the area where she'd made the noise with no success.

"Damn blighter must have got away."

"I didn't see anyone escaping, there's only one way out of these classrooms."

"Well, if he was hiding somewhere we would have found him by now."

"Enough!" Dolohov shouted, sounding very short tempered indeed. "He's not here, let's go."

So they went. Tonks still had no idea where their destination was, but Dolohov led them up several flights of stairs. Tonks' journey was complicated by the occasional run in with Order members or Death Eaters, but she managed, very narrowly in some cases, to nudge any fights in favor of the Order without raising the suspicions of the Death Eaters. However, on a staircase between the fifth and sixth floors she encountered a situation that required a rather dramatic change in tactics.

One moment, she and the Death Eaters were alone on their staircase, the next they weren't. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had appeared from out of nowhere, looking quite prepared to fight. Tonks had barely a second to react. She narrowly sidestepped a curse from Ron, then turned around and dropped the nearest Death Eater with a stunning charm. If the newcomers were shocked at her abrupt change in sides, they didn't show it. Not so admirable was the way that they insisted continuing in the fight once they'd won a way past the Death Eaters.

"Get out of here!" Tonks yelled at them, dueling with another Death Eater, and when she finally got a chance to look back, they had gone.

However, Tonks had no time to feel relief, one of them had managed to stun a Death Eater, but there were still two left and they were both looking at her with murderous expressions. She had to duel them both, and it quickly became obvious that they had something sinister in mind. It was a minute before she found out what it was.

The two Death Eaters barely glanced at each other, then both simultaneously cast the same spell at her. She recognized them as disarming spells and had only long enough to do one thing: she tossed her wand into the air a moment before the spells met her.

It was a risky tactic that Tonks had once seen used to great effect in a practice duel between Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mad-Eye Moody. The idea was that, while she was still losing contact with her wand, at least she was in control of where it went. Unfortunately for Tonks, in her case control was a relative thing, and where it went was right over the banister.

However, her mistake had one advantage. While the Death Eaters were still advancing on her, it was obvious that they found her position just amusing enough to be distracting, and Tonks used that distraction to kick the legs out from under Dolohov as soon as he was in striking distance. He fell heavily, cracking his head on a stair. She knocked down the other Death Eater with a few punches to the stomach and a sharp kick to the temple. As soon as she'd assured herself that the last Death Eater truly was unconscious, Tonks rushed to the banister.

"Bollocks," she spat, leaning over to try and see where her wand had fallen, but the nearest landing was three levels below and her wand was too small to spot.

Brilliant, losing her wand in the middle of a battle, she'd seen would-be Aurors thrown out of training for less. For once actually grateful for her disguise, Tonks knelt down next to Dolohov, intending to use his wand to summon her own, but the moment her fingers made contact with the wood they received a sudden shock.

"Bollocks," Tonks repeated, shaking out her tingling hand. Leave it to the Death Eaters to use an old Auror trick. Unless she met someone friendly and, furthermore, someone who would recognize her despite her changed appearance, she'd have to walk all the way back downstairs to retrieve her wand.

Tonks sighed and peered over the banister again, memorizing the place where her wand should have fallen, then hurried off downstairs, putting on an extra burst of speed a few steps later when she realized that three stories was a rather long way for a thin strip of wood to fall. If it landed the wrong way…

She knew better than to hope that she might make her journey without encountering anyone, but when Bellatrix Lestrange appeared at the opposite end of a hallway that Tonks had already traveled too far down to disappear from, she couldn't help but note that there were very few people that she would rather have avoided.

Trying to accentuate the fact that she was in a tearing hurry, and more than a little worried for her sanity (the sad case of the Longbottoms and her esteemed Aunt's involvement in it was deeply entrenched in both Auror and Order lore), Tonks broke into a jog. Wandless and vulnerable, Tonks couldn't have been less prepared for this encounter if Bellatrix had walked in on her while she was in the loo. However, as she and Bellatrix drew level and then passed each other, Tonks began to think that she might escape after all.

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure."

Tonks slowed to a halt, stomach plummeting. She'd been so close.

"Sorry?" she asked as politely as she could muster, turning back.

"We've never been introduced," Bellatrix replied with a regal air, still facing the opposite direction.

"You're Mrs. Lestrange, aren't you?" Tonks feigned. "Your reputation precedes you."

"What I meant was," Bellatrix said, finally turning around. Tonks wished she hadn't. "I haven't met you."

"Calyn Moriarty," Tonks replied with genuine exacerbation laced with genuine fear. Surely Bellatrix didn't interrogate every unfamiliar Death Eater she met. Had Tonks really shown her colors so quickly?

"Moriarty, that's an unusual name," Bellatrix continued. "Not, unless I am very much mistaken, one of the pure-blood houses."

"My father was Muggle-born," Tonks replied steadily.

"I see," Bellatrix said with a sniff. "And your mother's maiden name?"

"Er," Tonks faltered, caught. She wracked her brains for a pure-blood name that Bellatrix wouldn't be intimately familiar with and came up blank. However, Bellatrix didn't force the question, yet, at least. 

"The name sounds familiar," Bellatrix said instead.

"I think my father once mentioned that his Uncle tried to run for Prime Minister," Tonks improvised, knowing it was hopeless. "You may have read about it in the papers."

"No, that can't be it," Bellatrix continued, "because I seem to remember by sister telling me about a character by the name of Moriarty, in a book she read with her Muggle-born boyfriend."

"Oh?" Tonks replied, trying to sound interested in spite of her increasing dread. Why was Bellatrix drawing this out? Bellatrix might like this game, but subtlety had never been one of Tonks' strengths, and she knew she was only making things worse for herself as time went one.

"Quite a coincidence, I'll agree. Interestingly, again according to my sister, this Moriarty was supposed to be something of a criminal mastermind," Bellatrix said, making Tonks all the more concerned about the woman's point, whenever she got to it. "That same sister now has a daughter, who happens to be a Metamorphmagus, but you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Nymphadora?"

Tonks tensed, ready for an attack, but Bellatrix's pronouncement, now that she'd made it, was amazingly benign. In fact, if Tonks looked hard enough she could almost see something like pride etched in Bellatrix's sunken features.

"I knew you'd come around eventually," Bellatrix said with an eerie smile, placing a hand on Tonks' shoulder (it took all of Tonks' self control to keep from flinching away). "I can understand you wanting to keep it secret from Andromeda and those Aurors you've taken up with, but you could have told me."

Tonks blinked.

"I know," Tonks responded a second too late, but she'd needed that second just to compute what Bellatrix had said. To be given all the damning evidence she'd ever need and then fall so utterly wide of the mark; it was beyond illogical, it was insane. Azkaban must have unhinged Bellatrix more than her file at the Auror office supposed. "I should have told you, but I was so worried that my joining the Death Eaters would get back to someone that I decided not to tell anyone who I really was."

"You'll find that we do not take well to secrets," Bellatrix advised her sagely. "As soon as this battle is over you should go to the Dark Lord and give him your true identity. It will be much worse for you if he discovers it on his own."

"I understand," Tonks replied. "I should go; I was on my way to…"

Tonks trailed off, suddenly unable to invent anything she was supposed to be doing that wouldn't reverse Bellatrix's estimation of her.

"Of course," Bellatrix agreed immediately, seeming not to notice Tonks' lapse. "I have important business myself."

Tonks turned to go, but Bellatrix grabbed her arm. For a moment, Tonks thought that was it, that Bellatrix was about to reveal that she'd been having her on the entire time, but then Bellatrix pulled her into a hug. Abruptly, Bellatrix was Tonks' aunt and Tonks was Bellatrix's niece again, but then the illusion wore off and Tonks remembered that Bellatrix hadn't been her aunt since she was five years old and, more than any other time during their conversation, she wished she had her wand.

Just as suddenly as the hug had started, Tonks was released and Bellatrix stalked off, leaving Tonks to go her own way, shaking slightly with nerves and shock.

The rest of Tonks' journey to the place where her wand had fallen wasn't nearly so interesting, and she was extremely grateful for that, though not as grateful as she was when she finally found her wand, quite intact, having landed on a fallen tapestry. Tonks vowed to find someone to put an unbreakable charm on her wand the minute she made it out of this battle.

Far sooner than she would have preferred, Tonks happened upon another group of Death Eaters and invited herself to join them. However, this didn't last very long either; for she hadn't even gotten the chance to hinder a single one of their operations by the time she was pulled out of their ranks by none other than Severus Snape.

He half pulled, half carried her into a nearby classroom, and it was only when he released her that she found her feet again.

"Nymphadora," Snape said mildly, no doubt using her cumbersome first name in an attempt to further infuriate her.

"What do you want, traitor?" Tonks replied angrily, pointing her wand at his chest, but even as she did this she couldn't help but notice that his wand was nowhere in sight.

"To warn you," Snape replied, taking Tonks by surprise. "You need to get far away from here as quickly as you can."

"Why should I do that?" Tonks demanded. "Do you Death Eaters have some secret trap back here?" She almost wished she hadn't asked, for if they did then he certainly wouldn't tell her, and that was exactly the sort of thing she was supposed to be investigating.

"The Dark Lord is approaching," Snape explained. Even angry as she was, Tonks couldn't help the shock, fear, and surprise that coursed through her at that pronouncement. "Your disguise might have convinced those you were traveling with, but you did not fool me and you will not fool him."

"How do you know he's coming?" Tonks asked.

"I am drawing the Dark Lord here. I believe Potter was about to happen upon the Dark Lord unprepared. I hope to give Potter enough time to think of a plan so he can finish this."

But that didn't make any sense at all. From the sound of things, Snape had half a mind to sacrifice himself in order to give Harry a chance, but that wasn't the sort of thing dirty rotten turncoats often did for the side they'd turned against.

"But, why are you warning me?" Tonks said, voicing the one question she could put to words at the moment.

"Use your brain. The Dark Lord would not be interested in me if he thought me trustworthy and I would not be helping Potter if I wanted the Dark Lord to succeed."

"But, Dumbledore…"

"There's no time to explain," Snape said hurriedly.

"Then be quick."

"The Dark Lord's orders for Draco forced his hand, as did my Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa. He thought my position and Draco's life were more important than his own, so he asked me to do it, ordered me to, and, in the end, begged me to. I had no choice. Are you happy?"

"No," Tonks replied, mind spinning. Had she really been so wrong in her estimation of Snape, had they all been? She wished to interrogate him further, but he'd said they were running out of time, and all his faults he genuinely seemed to wish her no harm, so she turned to go.

"Wait."

"I thought you wanted me to get out of here," Tonks said shortly.

"Then be quick," Snape replied. "How's Draco."

"What?" Tonks asked, surprised by his concern.

"I know you remain in contact with your mother."

"He's fine," Tonks replied after a moment's contemplation. "He and my Dad didn't get along so well until they realized they were both cheering for the same side during the Wasps Cannons game last week. Last I heard my Mum was teaching him how to cook. Apparently he's got something of a knack for it; my Mum seemed excited. I was a bit of a hopeless case."

"Thanks," Snape replied, looking relieved, and this time he let Tonks leave.

When Tonks reached the hallway she was feeling so confused and conflicted about Snape's confession and his concern for Draco that she nearly missed the Auror going by, but then she blinked and realized that it really had been Dawlish who'd passed her. Fighting off the urge to let him go and find out what was down there on his own; Tonks rushed back and grabbed hold of his wand wrist.

"Don't go that way."

Dawlish tried to wave his wand, but she arrested the movement before he could accomplish anything.

"You-Know-Who is down that corridor," Tonks explained, remembering that Dawlish was one of the few Aurors who refused by call Voldemort by his name, but her euphemism didn't stop all the color from draining out of his face.

"Why are you telling me?"

Tonks sighed. Everyone else seemed to be able to see through her disguise. Leave it to Dawlish to be the only one who couldn't.

"It's Tonks," she whispered.

Dawlish looked at her like he was certain that couldn't be the case, but a moment later a visible flash of understanding crossed his face.

"Just keep off this floor," Tonks added, releasing his wrist and dashing off herself.

She ran down the next staircase she found and hurried on. Large groups of Death Eaters were growing harder to find as the teams they started in were disrupted by war. Being privy to no news from her own side, Tonks could only hope that her fellow Aurors and Order members were fairing better, though if the still forms strewn about the hallways were any indication, they were not.

Her disguise seemed to have grown almost useless now, and Tonks was considering changing back to her usual appearance and facing the fight as an Auror when she heard a terrible scream of pain echoing from behind a tapestry. Heart pounding, she ripped the tapestry aside and found a hidden passageway that had escaped her attention while she was at school. Giving no thought to where it might lead, Tonks rushed inside.

The screams grew nearer, but no louder. Someone was being tortured horribly, mercilessly, and he was weakening. At last, the passage ended at another tapestry and Tonks burst through. Not three steps away, the two Carrows siblings both had their wands on a writhing Sturgis Podmore, though they lifted their curses when they saw her.

"Who're you?" the brother demanded.

"Calyn Moriarty," Tonks replied, narrowing her eyes and trying a new tactic. "I'm sure we've been introduced. You're the Carrows, Alecto and Amycus."

"If we had met, I'm sure I'd remember," Amycus said threateningly.

"Then I suppose your reputation precedes you," Tonks offered. This really wasn't going anything like she'd planned. "I was looking for a bit of fun and I heard you torturing this man…"

The two siblings exchanged unconvinced looks and Tonks suddenly realized that she'd given them one idea too many.

"What an interesting thought, Moriarty," Alecto said, staring at Tonks, who had to work very hard not to fidget.

"Why don't you join us," Amycus continued. "In fact, why don't you start?"

"He hasn't done anything to me," Tonks tried, glancing at Podmore, her blood running cold. His eyes were still bulging from his last encounter with Cruciatus.

"He opposes the Dark Lord," Alecto said. "That should be enough for anyone who claims to be in our Master's service."

The implication was clear and Tonks was stuck. The Carrows' attentions and wands were fully on her now, she couldn't expect to fight them both and survive. She needed a distraction, but none seemed forthcoming, save the one she could make for herself. She'd already hesitated too long. If she continued like this they would both die. If she caused Podmore a few seconds pain, just a few seconds, she might be able to save them both.

She had no desire to torture Podmore, and Cruciatus required intent. Maybe that would spare him. Tonks took a deep breath, steeling herself. This could save them both.

"Crucio."

Podmore screamed and she heard it in her ears and in her head. She felt his pain in her wand and at once wondered what she'd done and why she hadn't done it before. Then Podmore screamed louder and Tonks realized that the Carrows had joined her. This was her chance to end it, but some terrible, dark corner of her mind didn't want to, because that corner had felt power, and liked it, and that was all the more reason to end this.

Before Tonks had even considered her plan, Alecto was blown into the nearest wall and crumpled to the floor, bleeding from his nose and ears, his eyes wide and blank. Amycus realized what happened a second sooner than Tonks had hoped and was ready when Tonks sent a similar spell in her direction.

The resulting duel was almost faster than Tonks could think. Amycus didn't seem to care exactly what kind of damage she did to her opponent and Tonks was hard put to cast the proper shields or dodge the right direction as spell after spell bore down on her. Tonks won in the end, however, dodging when she otherwise might have used a shield and casting a banishing charm on Amycus' legs instead. The Death Eater fell immediately, breaking her nose on the stone floor, and was stunned a second later. Tonks conjured bonds on both Death Eaters and hurried to help Podmore. He'd stopped screaming when the spells were released, but Tonks could still hear his voice in her head and wondered if she always would.

She conjured a glass and the water to fill it, but Podmore knocked it weakly out of her grasp when she offered it to him.

"It's Tonks," she said, realizing he didn't know. "I'm sorry I had to do that, they would have killed us both otherwise. Let me help you, this is just water."

He accepted the glass this time and she helped him take a sip out of it. This set him coughing, but when he recovered he seemed a bit better for it.

"I'll help you to the Hospital Wing," Tonks offered, moving to pull Podmore to his feet.

"No," Podmore replied, his voice raspy. "You need to get back to the fight. Just give me my wand."

Tonks nodded and summoned Podmore's wand, which came flying out of one on Alecto's pockets. Handing it over, she said, "There's a hidden passage just over there, if you'd like to wait in there until you're feeling better."

Podmore nodded, so Tonks pulled him to his rubbery legs and helped him behind the tapestry. She wanted to ask once more if there was anything she could do, but he shooed her off, so off she went.

Podmore's screams were still in Tonks' head, his pain was still in her wand, there was still a corner of her mind that liked it, and five minutes later she happened upon the one thing that could make it all worse.

There was a still form lying a few meters down the hallway, broken and bleeding and unmistakable. Stifling a cry, Tonks rushed to Remus' side. He took one look at her and tried weakly to move away, and she finally removed her disguise.

"You're okay, you're okay," Tonks whispered, surveying his injuries, his broken legs, the blood leaking from his mouth and ears, and not really believing her words even as she said them. "I'm here, I've got you, just hold on, you're okay."

She pulled out her wand, but her knowledge of healing spells was limited, certainly unequal to injuries like these. Everything she tried seemed to make things worse, if they did anything at all, and now that she'd started, she couldn't seem to stop repeating her mantra, "You're okay, you're okay."

"Tonks," Remus said. He seemed to be reaching for something, so she took his hand.

"It's okay, I'm here. I just need to get you back to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomphrey will fix you up in no time." She was lying, and he seemed to know it.

"Tonks."

"I'll just need some help to get you there…"

"Tonks."

"…maybe I could trick a few Death Eaters." The desperate plan was already forming in her mind.

"Nymphadora."

"Don't call me that." Too many times she'd been called Nymphadora that night, and not once had it lead to anything pleasant.

"You weren't answering to the other one. You can't save me. Just go and help Harry."

"I'm not going to give up on you," Tonks cried desperately, but she was more troubled by the fact that he already seemed to have given up on himself.

"I tricked Harry," Remus said, as though he'd been meaning to admit that for some time. "He trusted me, enough to tell me about the prophecy, he hadn't even told Arthur and Molly, and I tricked him."

"How so?" Tonks asked, sensing that this was something he dearly wanted to get off his chest.

"I made him think I'd died so he'd leave me here and do what he needed to do."

"I guess he'll be a happy guy when he finds you alive later," Tonks replied.

"We both know that's not going to happen."

"Don't say that," Tonks replied, leaning over to kiss him.

"Don't!" Remus exclaimed, forcing her away. "You can't get my blood in your mouth."

"I don't care," Tonks cried. Her tears fell onto his face and she used the sleeve of her robe to wipe them off.

"I do, I won't have you making a legacy of yourself by carrying on my curse."

"It's not fair," Tonks cried. He was dying and all she wanted to do was kiss him, but she couldn't even do that. There didn't seem to be a single place on him that wasn't covered in blood.

"Who said anything about fair," Remus replied. "I tricked Harry; I never would have tried it with James. It was very Slytherin of me."

"This war will make Slytherins of all of us," Tonks said, sounding wiser than she felt.

"To know thy enemy…"

He trailed off and Tonks grew afraid that he might have slipped away, but she looked down at him and found him looking expectantly up at her, as though he expected her to finish his sentence. Now that she thought about it, it did sound vaguely familiar, but she couldn't think of the rest.

"Say hi to Sirius for me," she blurted instead.

"Will do," Remus replied. "Don't miss me for too long, alright? You deserve to find someone else."

"I'll always miss you," Tonks said, suddenly sounding very cliché and deciding to have a bit of fun and continue, "but I'll have the moon to remember you by."

"Not the moon," Remus groaned. "Anything but the moon."

"Oh, alright," Tonks replied, making it sound as though she had no idea that Remus wasn't fond of the moon. "I suppose there's always that bonsai tree you killed. What did you name it? Joey?"

"Alright, not anything," Remus said. "And leave Joey out of it." That plant was still a bit of a sore subject for him, mostly because she had yet to let him live it down.

"I've been meaning to tell you what happened at dinner the other night, when you were on duty here," Tonks said after casting around a minute for a new subject.

"Don't you have places you need to be?" Remus replied with a cough.

"I'm not going anywhere," Tonks said firmly. "Do you want to hear the story or not."

"I already heard a bit," Remus admitted. "Dung mentioned Molly's legendary wrath."

"That's not even the half of it," Tonks replied, biting back a laugh.

"Let's hear the rest, then," Remus sighed.

Tonks was afraid to move him even enough to place his head on her lap, so she settled for stroking his hair as she began the story.

"So, it was me, Dung, Molly, Arthur and-"

"Fred and George," Remus interrupted knowledgably.

"Naturally," Tonks continued. "So this was just a little after all the battles stopped, and Molly got it in her head to have a little celebration at headquarters for whoever happened to be around. She must've spent all afternoon on that dinner, but she didn't seem to count on-"

"Fred and George having their own idea of what makes a celebration," Remus said.

"You'd think she'd have learned by now," Tonks agreed, "though in her defense they did show up unannounced. Anyway, they thought it would be a grand idea to-"

"Test some of their new products," Remus finished.

"How much of this story did Dung tell you?" Tonks asked.

"Hardly any," Remus replied. "You forget that I taught those two for a year."

"I suppose that would do it," Tonks admitted. "Were they really that bad?"

"According to most teachers they were," Remus explained. "Filch was legendary among the staff for his rants about them, but they seemed to take something of a shine to me."

"Can't imagine why," Tonks laughed, giving him a gentle nudge.

"They remind me a little of James and Sirius," Remus confirmed. "So what did they do?"

"I've got no idea how they came up with this, but they made this potion that you can pour on anything, and when you touch it the object gets transfigured into something else," Tonks explained, "so they decided to put some in the food.

"Dung was the first to try it. He pokes his fork into this delicious looking steak and kidney pie, and the next thing you know it's a chocolate cake. Now Dung doesn't seem to mind that so much either, but when he tries to take a bite out of that it turns into a plate of Chinese food, then bangers and mash. By now Dung's getting pretty angry, because he's seen three delicious meals go by and hasn't gotten a bite of any of them, so he pretty much jumps on that mash, which chose that time to turn into fireworks.

"At that point I was none the wiser, but when those fireworks went off I started to think that there might be some Death Eater sabotage going on, at least until I saw Fred and George practically hyperventilating because they're trying so hard not to laugh.

"So by now Molly's just about figured out what's going on, but you know Arthur, either he figured that Fred and George were just picking on Dung, or he wanted to see what his food would turn into, so he picks up his fork, touches his pie, and it becomes a plate full of frogs.

"I actually didn't quite see what happened next, because I'd…er…fallen off my chair…"

"Now that I'd like to hear about," Remus said.

"Nothing special, really, just the usual, me being clumsy, and not expecting one of the frogs to come jumping straight at me."

"Uh huh," Remus sighed.

"It was huge!" Tonks exclaimed defensively. "Anyway, by now it's chaos. Arthur's frogs are all over the place, and some of them set off Molly's plate, which turned into butterflies, and mine, which became this horrible smelling potion, and Dung's fireworks still hadn't gone away. Molly's figured out what's going on by now, so she's yelling at Fred and George, who've given up trying not to laugh. In the midst of all of this, I go to sit back down, but one of them must have gotten my chair while I was on the floor, because suddenly it's a pony and not a chair and it starts carrying me all around the kitchen. And the frogs have started going after the butterflies, but those turn into cats, which go after the frogs, which turn into dogs and start chasing the cats, so then Fred…"

Tonks paused. Remus' eyes had slipped closed.

"Come on, old man, you can't fall asleep on me now, I haven't even gotten to the best part yet," Tonks admonished him, shaking him gently, but there was no reaction.

"Remus?" Tonks asked, concerned. She'd gotten so engrossed in her own story that she'd nearly forgotten that he was slowly dying beside her, but it all came crashing back now. Desperately, she searched for breath, for a pulse, and found none, not even after she tried a reviving spell.

"Remus!" Tonks shouted, tears forming in her eyes.

She grabbed his broken and twisted leg and wrenched it back into place. He didn't even flinch. He was really gone.

Crying freely now, Tonks nearly kissed his still lips, only stopping herself when she remembered him forbidding her to before. Lycanthropy seemed a fitting punishment for her actions that night, but still she restrained herself. Their last kiss had been that afternoon, and she'd played that stupid transforming trick. That seemed a lifetime ago, maybe two.

A sudden thought occurred to Tonks and she looked up, half hoping to see a ghost of Remus, ethereal and transparent but still there, smiling down at her, asking to hear the rest of her story. But he wasn't there and she realized that it was an entirely selfish idea and banished it as best she could.

Tonks had no idea what to do now, with Remus gone. Even the war that had run her life for the past three years made no sense anymore without Remus' quiet and calm wisdom to guide her through it. She couldn't help feeling alone, and even a little betrayed, but they'd both broken their words to each other: she hadn't been careful, and he'd died.

Abruptly, she could stand it there no longer, so she stood up and left, not registering where she was going until she felt rain on her skin and realized that her feet had carried her outside. Supposing that was as good a place as any, she continued, making for the gate to leave the grounds.

Several times, she tripped over the overly long hem of her robes, and, finally tiring of that, she pulled out her wand and cut them to length. She scarcely cared about the quality of the job: she wouldn't be wearing these robes again. She gone into Hogwarts dressed as a Death Eater and spent far too much time inside acting like one. And that corner, there was still that horrible corner that enjoyed it.

Tonks couldn't believe herself, she couldn't understand herself, and she couldn't trust herself. She knew the student who'd tried to murder Dumbledore was living with her parents and she hadn't turned him in, she'd tortured Podmore, she hadn't even gotten help for Remus. No wonder Bellatrix had believed Tonks had turned to the Death Eaters.

She reached the gate, stepped outside, and Apparated directly to her flat, ripping off the ruined robes and pulling on her own.

Her intentions might have been pure, but those intentions had still given Podmore the full force of a Cruciatus curse. All those Aurors who'd thought she couldn't be trusted because of her family, it turned out they'd been right all along.

She felt like a different person from the girl who'd gone into Hogwarts hoping to help the side of the light in the final battle against Voldemort, and the only person she trusted to bring that other Tonks back was gone forever. If they heard of her plight, there was no doubt that her parents or Molly Weasley or Kingsley Shacklebolt or Bellatrix Lestrange would try to help her along to their favored side, but Tonks couldn't accept their input for something such as this. Remus was the only one who would let her find her own way, help her along when she wanted it or needed it, stay away when she didn't, and always be a ready shoulder, but he was gone and she'd have to make her own way.

Her mind made up, Tonks packed a bag, just some clothes, money, and food, and Apparated to the farthest place she could thing of. Let them think she'd died, or turned, she intended to stay there until she'd banished that horrible corner, or succumbed to it, but already she had the idea that she'd like to banish it.


	5. The Story of the Death Eater

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.

**Chapter 5: The Story of the Death Eater**

The Dark Lord was speaking and Nott was listening. They all were, it was impossible not to. The Dark Lord's voice was intriguing, intoxicating, rising and falling in all the right places, and what he was saying, about how the time of the purebloods was about to begin, how tomorrow all of Britain would be bowing down to them and the world would soon follow, that was intoxicating as well.

Nott hadn't seen the Dark Lord in almost two years, since before the fiasco in the Department of Mysteries landed him in Azkaban. Security in the supposedly inescapable prison was laughable with the Dementors gone. He could have escaped any time he wanted to What he'd lacked was the proper motivation. Since he'd known that all that waited for him outside was the Dark Lord's considerable displeasure over losing the prophecy, Nott had been quite content to wait in Azkaban. That logic had served him well until three months ago, when his cell door had clicked mysteriously and obligingly open late one night and a particularly painful twinge to his Dark Mark tattoo had informed him that it would be in his best interest to take advantage of the opportunity: so Nott had left Azkaban along with the others who'd been caught in the Department of Mysteries and any who'd been clumsy enough to get themselves captured since.

Nott and the others had spent most of the last few months taking orders from other Death Eaters and performing the most distasteful and menial tasks in order to regain the Dark Lord's trust.

"Our patience is about to be rewarded," the Dark Lord said, jolting Nott from his thoughts. "They think we've given up and moved on. They think we're cowards. I think they're fools."

Nott nodded, finally understanding why they'd been ordered to stop all attacks for the past few weeks. It had been akin to torture for those Death Eaters who considered the night wasted if the Dark Mark wasn't hanging over at least fifteen houses come sunrise, but the lack of activity had lulled their opponents into a false sense of security.

"My sources tell me that the students of Hogwarts have been allowed to visit the village of Hogsmeade today," the Dark Lord continued. "The wards protecting Hogwarts, protecting Potter, have been weakened."

Of course, it always came back to Potter. Nott understood that the Dark Lord saw Potter as the only threat to his regime. That was why he'd been so interested in the Department of Mysteries, after all. But, though he would never admit it and rarely dared to think it, since the ranks of the Death Eaters contained so many Legilimens, Nott though that if the Dark Lord was certain that Potter was such a threat then he would be far wiser to stop giving the brat opportunities.

"We will enter Hogsmeade while the town is distracted by Dementors and enter the school by several paths. That is all."

The Dark Lord disappeared, but Bellatrix Lestrange picked up where he left off, explaining the locations of those several paths and what they were to do once they entered Hogwarts.

Less than an hour later, Nott was in a dark tunnel under the Shrieking Shack, bent double and trying to run as fast as he could but constantly hindered by stray roots and the feet of the Death Eaters in front of and behind him.

The plan to let the Dementors loose in Hogsmeade had gone off without a hitch, but slower than they'd expected, which was why they were in such a hurry. Just before leaving for Hogsmeade they'd heard a rumor that another group would travel through the Forbidden Forest with a Chimera, which they would let loose on the grounds. All of them wanted to be inside the castle before that happened, but first they had to get out of the tunnel.

Nott was just beginning to wonder how that dolt Peter Pettigrew could have possibly gotten them lost in a straight tunnel when he ran straight into Marcus Goyle, who'd stopped. A second later Nott let out a shout of annoyance as Rookwood ran into him.

"What's the matter!"

"Nothing!" came Pettigrew's quivering reply. "We're at the end of the tunnel."

Pettigrew didn't respond to the several shouts of, "Get a move on," but a few seconds later they were all out of the tunnel.

All of them were covered in mud, drenched thanks to the pouring rain, and hardly about to make the entrance the Dark Lord had probably imagined, but they still had the Chimera to worry about, so they started running for the front doors as fast as they could.

They found the door sealed at first, but once he convinced Goyle to stop trying to get it open by brute force alone it only took Nott a few seconds to determine the correct counter charm and let them inside.

Perhaps they should have anticipated resistance, but the people in Hogwarts shouldn't have known yet that they were under attack, so it was quite a shock to Nott when his head was nearly taken off the moment he stepped inside.

It was that old Auror Mad-Eye who had taken the shot. He was flanked by a few other Aurors and a couple members of the irritation that called itself the Order of the Phoenix. Mad-Eye seemed only vaguely annoyed that he'd missed and took aim for another try, but he and the others immediately rethought their strategy when another five Death Eaters followed Nott inside.

They exchanged spells for a few minutes, the defenders' line augmented gradually as more teachers and Order members arrived and the Death Eaters' line was augmented abruptly when five of those who'd been escorting the Chimera arrived, looking much the worse for the wear but quite eager for a fight they could win.

Nott had chosen to place himself directly next to Goyle. The huge lump of a man made excellent cover if anything Nott couldn't dodge came his way, but his spell casting was erratic, hitting his own line almost as often as it hit their opponents. It was because of this position that Nott had a clear view when one of Goyle's few well placed spells struck Professor Flitwick.

It was as he watched Flitwick fall that Nott realized something: they were waging a battle in a school. There were hundreds of students in here that had done nothing except for attend the same school as Harry Potter. Nott's own son was probably locked up in the Slytherin Common Room, just a staircase and a few hallways away. The man who'd just fallen, who might never get up, had taught Nott every charm he'd ever known, taught him the countercharm that got them through the front door.

Nott was suddenly so conflicted that he nearly lowered his wand, but he forced his doubts aside and returned to the battle. Their quarrel wasn't with the students, and if the teachers would just give them what they wanted, give them Potter, then their quarrel wouldn't be with them either.

The defenders seemed reluctant to use unforgivable curses, probably because of that stupid governing force they called nobility. Nott knew his fellows were avoiding those curses for one simple reason: the fight would be over too quickly if they did and they were enjoying themselves.

It surprised Nott as well, then, when he shouted, "Avada Kedavra!"

He didn't know why he did it, broke the silent pact that had governed the battle, at least not at first, but when the spell ran its course and hit one of the defenders, a witch he'd never seen before, slumped to the ground, he realized he'd somehow seen her take a sidelong glance in the direction of the staircase that led to Slytherin House, as though she longed to go down there and make sure that the students weren't about to join the fight on the wrong side.

Whatever the reasoning, it seemed that Nott was the only one who cared. All that mattered to the other Death Eaters was that they have a chance to use the killing curse as well and the Aurors responded in kind, though none of the other defenders. Nott smirked as he performed another spell. That kind of nobility would get them killed; it was already getting them killed. The Dark Lord was right. They were fools.

They did understand, however, that they couldn't last long in this kind of fight. Mad-Eye put on a predictable last stand, dropping a few Death Eaters including Goyle, before taking a killing curse himself, and the remaining defenders picked up their wounded and raced up the stairs. The Death Eaters gave chase, but the defenders had already disappeared.

After taking a moment to ponder his next move, Nott grabbed Pettigrew, who'd been eying a nearby suit of armor intently, by the robes, and demanded, "Where is Gryffindor House."

Pettigrew didn't respond right away, and Nott thought he recognized the glint in his eye.

"Transform and you're dead, rat!" he explained, giving Pettigrew a shake.

"Seventh floor, west side, behind the portrait of the Fat Lady," Pettigrew squeaked, only too eager to reveal his secret.

"Rookwood, Mulciber, with me," Nott ordered, releasing Pettigrew. "The rest of you, figure out some other place to look for Potter."

Nott couldn't recall ever having a reason to explore the seventh floor while he was in school and Pettigrew's directions hadn't been entirely specific, but they found the place he'd been referring to easily enough.

Then, fortune smiled upon them and, as they approached, Potter and his two little friends appeared, apparently out from under an invisibility cloak, and started to argue with the portrait. By silent agreement, Nott, Rookwood, and Mulciber split up to surround them.

The three targets' attentions were entirely on the portrait, but Nott took no chances as he approached. He couldn't even imagine the award he would receive when he presented Potter to Voldemort. Still, he couldn't control all of the elements and Peeves happened to be floating nearby. Perhaps the Poltergeist had a general distaste for people who attempted to move with stealth, perhaps he was trying to even out karma for the time he'd helped Nott and his girlfriend slip past Filch on their way back from the Astronomy Tower one night while he was still in school. Whatever the reason, Peeves blew a loud raspberry, effectively drawing Potter and his friends' attentions away from the portrait and straight to him. Nott tried to hide but wasn't fast enough and the next thing he knew the world had turned grey.

When everything slid back into focus he found three people standing in front of him.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You didn't just wipe his memory, did you? You modified it," one person, the tall one with red hair, said.

He hoped the question wasn't directed at him, because he hadn't even understood it. They hadn't seemed to hear his own question but he was desperate for an answer so he asked it again, then reached for his hair in his confusion and spotted a horrible black tattoo on his left wrist.

"Where did I get this?" 

"Are you alright?" the girl asked. At least this time it was obvious that the question was for him. "Sorry I had to do that, McGonagall's probably going to kill me, but no one ever told us the keyword and I couldn't just let you capture us, could I."

That didn't make any sense at all.

"Sorry, but what keyword?" He wondered if he ought to ask about the McGonagall person as well. He sounded like a dangerous sort.

"Oh, right, I suppose you wouldn't know," the girl continued. "The mind's a funny thing that way. You're a sleeper agent for the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore did something to your memory so you wouldn't remember unless someone told you the keyword. Then you'd make your reports about what Voldemort is doing, someone would tell you another keyword to make you forget again, and you'd go back to the Death Eaters like nothing ever happened. You've been very helpful over the years."

"Oh," he sighed. He supposed it made a bit of sense, but everything was so jumbled up in his head.

"Does any of this sound familiar?" the girl asked.

"Did I volunteer for this?" he returned. Now that he'd said it, it sounded like a strange thing to ask, but it seemed important to him.

"Oh dear," the girl said, seeming distressed. "I must have done a worse job than I thought. It wasn't ever supposed to happen like this, I'm-"

"Nott!"

All three of the children jumped and raised their wands at the unexpected shout.

"Nott, is that me?" he asked as they found cover, a bit worried to realize that he didn't even know his own name.

"Yeah, that's you," the girl replied after a moment's hesitation.

"Then he's probably going to come this way looking for me," Nott said. He still wasn't entirely clear on the situation, but he'd gathered enough to know that the people who were looking for him, the Death Eaters were dangerous and the three children were trying to avoid them. "Listen, I'll go distract him, you three do what you need to do."

"No, wait," the girl yelped. "If they find out what's been going on…"

"I know," Nott replied. "But I guess it's what I'm for. Thanks for telling me the truth." 

Nott couldn't fathom why, but the girl visibly shuddered at the last statement. He didn't have time to ask why and simply ran off in the direction of the shout.

"There you are," one of two waiting men said as he approached. "What happened to you?" 

"I got lost," Nott ventured.

"How'd yeh manage that," the other man replied. "You had a straight run to them."

"Did you see where they went?" the first man pressed.

"No, I lost track of them," Nott stammered, "while I was lost."

"And our plan? Did yeh loose that too?" the second man hissed.

"P-plan?"

"What happened to you, Nott?" the first man said, eying him. "Whose side are you on?"

"Voldemort's?" Nott said, trying not to fidgit.

He was fairly certain that was the name the girl mentioned, but there must have been something wrong with that answer, because the two men looked at each other, then back at Nott, and one of them raised his wand.

"Avada Kedavra!"


	6. The Story of the Student

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.

**Chapter 6: The Story of the Student**

Dean Thomas couldn't recall ever appreciating the village of Hogsmeade quite so much. After months of constant rain the whole place had a rather washed out look and it was obvious that the residents had been forgoing all but the most essential maintenance, but after an entire year of being cooped up in Hogwarts with naught but his N.E.W.T. level schoolwork and increasingly short tempered classmates for company, Dean was sure that he'd never seen such a beautiful sight.

His fifth and sixth years, Dean had probably only attended half of the Hogsmeade visits since he'd already seen everything there was to see and had more homework than hours in the day, but he hadn't realized how freeing the option alone was until this year, when every single Hogsmeade visit was cancelled. They'd been free to wander the grounds, of course, but the weather had been so horrible that, apart from Quidditch, only the truly stir-crazy ventured outside. Dean had done just that on a number of occasions, of course, and he even recalled with some fondness a somewhat self-defeating snowball fight he and a few other Gryffindors had started in the middle of a blizzard.

Even the teachers had started to feel the pressure as the school year wore on, though they refused to crack on the matter of Hogsmeade visits until about a week ago when McGonagall finally snapped at a third year during breakfast one morning. It was fortunate that McGonagall finally came to her senses, or she might have had a mutiny on her hands. Hell, Dean might have led it if no one else had been willing.

When it started to rain again, Dean found himself surprised but not especially disappointed. After all, he'd gotten his few hours of freedom, he'd seen what he wanted to see and no longer felt like he was in danger of cursing the next first year who asked him about levitation charms. Besides, in a few days he'd leave Hogwarts for good, and then he'd be able to visit Hogsmeade any old time he wanted.

Dean started down the path to Hogwarts, walking twice as fast as usual to try and get out of the rain as quickly as possible. He only slowed down when he caught up with Seamus, who seemed to be having trouble managing a bulging bag of Zonko's products. From the look of things, something in there had already escaped its package and was now making a valiant effort to escape the bag as well, but Seamus was having none of it.

"Think you've got enough stuff there?" Dean asked as he fell in step with Seamus.

"Fanged Frisbee won't give up," Seamus grunted, finally swinging the bag into the ground, which seemed to stun the miscreant within. "I thought Filch could use a nice parting present, so I bought as many of the forbidden objects from that stupid list he's got on his door as I could."

"Nice," Dean approved, wishing he'd thought of it.

Dean and Seamus walked the rest of the way back to the castle together, discussing Seamus' plans for his Zonko's purchases, what they intended to do after Hogwarts, and generally speaking more easily than they had in months.

Harry and Ron could hardly be considered mitigating factors in the seventh year boys' dormitory, but there was no denying that things were different between Dean, Seamus and Neville in their absence, and not always for the better. Even though they were rarely involved in the action, it was as though they'd gotten used to having the occasional dose of excitement and danger to break up their studies. Without that, they'd fallen apart somehow, as though the three of them had silently agreed to keep their distance and not risk ending up at each other's throats instead. Dean and Seamus still considered themselves best friends, but often entire days went by when the entirety of their conversations consisted of little more than, "Could you pass the salt?" and "Have you figured out that Transfiguration homework yet?"

When Dean had returned to his dormitory late one night some two weeks ago, after being kicked out of the library so Madam Pince could close up for the night, it had taken him several moments to realize what was different, but once he'd managed to ignore his stomach, which had been grumbling unhappily about missing dinner, and considered a coherent thought about a different subject, he'd realized that Harry and Ron's trunks had been placed at the foot of their beds.

Dean had rarely seen Harry and Ron when they were all conscious, usually just in passing around the Common Room or library, or, less often, Great Hall, but he managed to gather that they'd returned with Hermione, intending to take their N.E.W.T.s, which to Dean was even more of a shock than seeing them back in the first place. He'd rarely allowed his mind to wander while he was studying, but when it did manage to escape it would usually start concocting wild excuses about why he shouldn't have to sit his N.E.W.T.s. From the looks of things, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had perfectly legitimate excuses that they were wasting.

Dean's trail of thoughts and his conversation with Seamus led him back to the castle and half way to the first floor when they were abruptly interrupted by the amplified voice of Headmistress McGonagall.

"Students, report to your houses at once. House guards seals yourselves in ten minutes. Teachers to your positions. This is very real."

It was fortunate that McGonagall had been fairly explicit in her instructions for the students, because one glance at Seamus indicated that he didn't know what to do any better than Dean did. McGonagall hadn't been terribly specific about the reason for her announcement, but it was unnecessary, there was only one possible explanation: Hogwarts was under attack. It suddenly felt as though everything Dean had ever learned, including topics from Defense Against the Dark Arts and the things Harry had taught him in the DA, had suddenly turned to rubbish in is mind, a pile of useless words being chased around and around by McGonagall's final warning: "This is very real."

So Dean and Seamus didn't bother to look at each other, to convey either silently or aloud the fear they were feeling, they simply turned and ran. Never before had they made the trek up the stairs so quickly, not even in first year when they'd been running late for Astronomy, or fifth when, in a fit of rebellion, they'd gone to the kitchens for a midnight snack only to race Mrs. Norris back to their tower.

When Dean and Seamus reached the Gryffindor Common Room, it seemed that no one present had any more answers than they did, but many seemed to be looking to them for solutions. It took them a moment to realize why: Lavender and Parvati were nowhere to be seen, and neither were Harry, Ron, and Hermione, which meant that Dean, Seamus, and Neville were the only seventh years there, and somehow, therefore, the authority and source of answers. Neville seemed to realize this as well and moved to stand with them, but he looked just as lost as they did.

"I think they expect us to say something," Neville whispered after a moment.

"You think?" Dean returned with more spite than he'd intended. He immediately regretted his venom, knowing Neville well enough to realize that even if he did come up with an idea he probably wouldn't voice it now that he'd been snapped at.

"Prefects, come up here," Seamus said suddenly, and now that he'd suggested it, Dean couldn't help but wonder why it took them so long to think of.

However, Dean's elation was short lived. He'd already noticed that Ron and Hermione were Merlin knows where, but he hadn't counted on two of the other four Prefects being missing as well.

A sixth year boy and a fifth year girl approached, both looking like they had no idea what use they could possibly be, and together the five of them formed a tight huddle of conversation.

"What are we supposed to be doing?" Seamus demanded immediately.

"Exactly what we are doing," the boy hissed. "We're supposed to lock ourselves in our house and keep quiet until someone comes to fetch us, McGonagall told everyone that."

"But, you're Prefects," Dean stammered. "Didn't she give you any special instructions?"

"Like what?" the girl replied. "You think we've been having special Prefect meetings, planning a secret student battle?"

"No, I-"

"If McGonagall told us anything," the boy interrupted, "it was to make sure that no one got the idea to go outside and join the fight. She was very explicit about students not getting involved."

"And that's all you're supposed to do," Dean whispered.

"What else can we do?"

"Look at them, they're terrified," Dean replied, gesturing to the rest of the students, who were sitting very close together on the sofas and floor in front of the fire.

"And how are we supposed to fix that? Tell them there's nothing to worry about, sing them a lullaby, and send them off to bed?"

"No, but-"

"Listen, if it's so important to you, then why don't-"

Their argument was interrupted abruptly by the low groan of wood scraping against stone. With a speed that betrayed their uneasiness, all five turned to face the disturbance and found Ginny and a few of the younger students pushing a sofa in front of the portrait hole.

"Um, Gin?" Dean asked, confused.

"Yeah?" Ginny replied without looking at him.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Blocking the entrance."

"But that sofa isn't nearly tall enough."

"And you don't think anyone coming through the portrait hole will trip with this sitting right here," Ginny returned.

Dean didn't need to respond, she'd made her point. What's more, he couldn't quite ignore the slight twinge he felt as he watched Ginny and her group of students extinguish the fire and blockage the fireplace with a second sofa, and then arrange the tables and chairs so that they created a sort of bunker. It was exactly that sort of fire that had so attracted him to her a few years ago, and, to be perfectly honest, still did. He'd sensed from the beginning that what they'd had during his sixth year wouldn't last. She was Harry's match and not his. Still, he never regretted any of it and even credited Ginny with keeping him from turning into something like Ron, who became increasingly renowned in recent years for taking cold showers at odd intervals.

Now that the students had been galvanized into action, their fear seemed to be easing. Dean could almost feel the tension in the room decreasing, but it was too good to last. With nothing to do but gather in their makeshift bunker and wait, the fear began to creep steadily back in.

Hours went by with no news from the outside world and, indeed, very little evidence that the outside world still existed. At least if felt like hours. Dean hadn't been quite equal to checking his watch, afraid to discover that it really had been hours and even more afraid of finding that it hadn't been that long at all.

When the portrait hole opened they were all as tense as they had ever been. Dean's hand closed around his wand, but everyone was so petrified that it was one of the few that did. The newcomer slid out of the hold and stumbled momentarily on the sofa Ginny had placed in the way. Dean was certain that it was a Death Eater, come to finish them off, then he blinked and realized that it was actually Harry standing there. Relief surged through him and he thought he could have hugged Harry. In fact, he probably would have it his limbs weren't already glued to the spot.

Harry paused, looking confused to see them all huddled there, then Ginny rushed up to him. Dean, Seamus, and Neville followed.

"What's happening?" Ginny asked, sounding just as terrified as Dean felt but controlling it admirably. "McGonagall announced that we should lock ourselves in our houses as quickly as possible, but that was over an hour ago, we haven't heard anything else since."

Had it really only been an hour? It felt so much longer, but a glance at Dean's watch confirmed it.

"Voldemort's attacking Hogwarts," Harry replied. "He's somewhere in the castle. The Order, the Aurors, Ron, Hermione, and I are looking for him, but the Death Eaters are giving us trouble."

"Why would You-Know-Who come here?" Neville asked. Dean nodded rather than echoing the question aloud. "Is he looking for something?" 

"Yes," Harry sighed, looking like they'd reached a subject he really didn't want to discuss. "We think he's looking for me.

"Why you?" Seamus asked, and Dean had to agree. Everyone knew that Harry and You-Know-Who had a long history, but assuming that the tyrant would stage an attack on Hogwarts for the singular goal of finding one person was egotistical even for Harry.

"That's complicated," Harry replied, as Dean suspected he might. "The point is that I can't stay here much longer without putting you all in danger."

"Listen up," Harry continued, raising his voice and addressing the entire Common Room. "You all deserve to know that Hogwarts is currently being attacked by some very bad wizards." Dean rolled his eyes and observed that he was not the only person to do so. "Does anyone have any Floo Powder?"

Dean blinked in surprise, not that Harry would suggest that any of them might have a stock of that banned substance, but that he hadn't thought of it himself. At any rate, it scarcely mattered; there was no Floo Powder to be found.

"Alright," Harry sighed. "The Fat Lady should be able to stop anyone who shouldn't be in here, but we have to make sure this place can be well defended, just in case. It would be best if first, second, and third years go lock themselves in the dormitories, the girls' side if the boys can make it up there, since the staircase will slow down most of the Death Eaters. Should anything go wrong up there, third years, you'll be in charge of defending the younger students. Everyone else, it's your task to make sure they don't have to by stopping any intruders before they have a chance to get upstairs. Should it come down to it, Fred and George's fireworks make an excellent distraction. There's a stash of them in the seventh year boys' dormitory."

If Harry thought that a speech like that would be enough to relieve everyone's fears then he'd been spending too much time with Ron and Hermione, but he seemed to realize that quickly enough.

"Come on you lot. We're Gryffindors, famed for our bravery. Each and every one of you was put into this house for a reason. The Sorting Hat saw courage in you, live up to it! Tonight we are all in danger, and tonight we may all be called upon in this battle. I know you're afraid, I know you don't want to fight, but if it comes down to it, you will have the choice to give up or to strike back. You can't give up. Together, you can face anything that comes through that portrait; all you need is to be ready for it."

There was a tense pause, then someone asked, "What about the students in other houses?"

Harry actually smiled at that.

"Unfortunately, without their passwords there's nothing I can do for them, but if I see anyone I'll remind them to check on their houses. Now then, first, second, and third years upstairs, everyone else down here. DA members should stay in charge here…" Harry looked ready to leave it at that, but Dean and several others silently informed him that they'd do nothing of the sort and he appended, "…or, if you're willing, you can come out and help."

There was a shuffle as the students moved to carry out Harry's instructions and the DA members gathered around.

"We're with you, Harry," Ginny said.

"Alright," Harry replied. "I just need the Marauder's Map; I'll be back in a minute."

Harry darted up the stairs to their dormitory, leaving the rest of them behind, so the DA members helped the older students decide where to position themselves and taught them a few last minute spells while the younger students made their way up to the girls' dormitories.

When Harry returned a minute later, he surveyed the room with satisfaction and said, "I guess we're ready, then," before leading the way out of the portrait hole.

Dean slipped out into the hallway just in time to see Ron and Hermione appear from under, of all things, invisibility cloak. He blinked in surprise. How many other things about his classmates had escaped his attention?

"They wanted to help," Harry said, prompted by a question Dean must not have heard.

"I'm not sure how much use this is going to be, then," Ron replied, handing over the invisibility cloak. "There's no way we'll all fit under there."

"I guess not," Harry replied as he pocketed the cloak, sounding dejected.

"Listen, Harry," Dean said, sensing a partial solution to their dilemma, "why don't Seamus and I go and see if we can check on the other Houses. We've got some friends in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff and we know where their common rooms are." The suggestion surprised even Dean, for he had no recollection of formulating the idea before voicing it, though he wasn't caught off guard nearly as much as Seamus, who looked less than happy about being volunteered for such a task.

"Alright, if you're sure," Harry said, glancing between them and looking hesitant but unable to dispute the point. "Be careful, though."

Dean looked at Seamus, who gave him a glare but no argument, and they both turned to go.

At first, Dean couldn't fathom why Harry had seemed so reluctant to let them venture off on their own. It was obvious that Harry had his own things to do, and equally obvious that they'd need more students if they were going to mount a proper resistance, which meant recruiting Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. However, he and Seamus had never even gotten themselves into a proper wizard's duel before and it soon became clear that they couldn't just hear about a battle second hand and automatically know how to wage one, a fact they discovered only a few minutes after they parted company with Harry and the rest.

They were hurrying along toward Ravenclaw, trying to get out of the hallways as quickly as they could, when they turned a corner and found themselves face to face with a pair of Death Eaters. Both groups stood there for a moment, surprised, before Dean finally hit upon a solution, grabbed Seamus by the robes, and pulled him back around the corner. A mad chase ensued. The Death Eaters had a wide arsenal of spells and used them at every opportunity, but Dean and Seamus were faster and more familiar with the hallways and eventually they managed to give the Death Eaters the slip.

Out of breath but reveling in their victory, Dean and Seamus resumed their quest for Ravenclaw. However, before long they came around another corner and there was Luna Lovegood, calm as you please, apparently admiring a portrait as though she'd somehow missed the order to lock herself in her house, or simply grown bored with waiting in her common room and decided to go for a wander. Momentarily stunned by their amazement, Dean and Seamus nearly strode forward to ask what the hell she was doing there when the same pair of Death Eaters they thought they'd lost appeared at the other end of the hallway. Dean lifted his wand but didn't get the chance to use it because Seamus grabbed the back of his robes and pulled him around the corner.

"What are we doing?" Dean demanded in a whisper.

"Hiding," Seamus replied, peering around the corner.

"Loony's not," Dean pointed out, joining him.

"That's her own fault," Seamus said.

"Those are Death Eaters," Dean hissed.

"I noticed," Seamus sighed. "So?"

"So they're not going to leave her alone just because she doesn't realize there's a battle on," Dean said.

"So we wait until they're closer then jump out and stun them," Seamus said.

"We can't use her as bait!" Dean spat.

"We already are," Seamus replied. "Shut up before they hear us."

So Dean closed his mouth and they watched and waited as the Death Eaters drew steadily closer, apparently just as intent on sneaking up on Luna as he and Seamus were on sneaking up on them.

When the Death Eaters were within a few feet of Luna, Dean and Seamus glanced at each other, prepared to jump out at exactly the right moment.

When they turned back, Luna had reached a hand up, as though to run it through her hair, then suddenly her wand was in her hand and not behind her ear and she was facing the Death Eaters and not the painting, and then the Death Eaters were lying on the ground, stunned, and not poised to attack her.

Feeling as though he'd just been hit with a Confundus Charm, Dean slipped back into the hallway.

"Did you just…" he stammered, glancing weakly between Luna and the Death Eaters.

"Oh, hello," Luna said mildly, as though she hadn't done anything more extraordinary than butter her morning toast. Dean couldn't help but wonder if she might as him what he thought of the texturing on the tree in the picture she'd been studying.

"Hi," Dean replied finally, after trying and failing to come up with a different response.

"What are you doing here?" Luna asked, now investigating a nearby suit of armor.

"We were about to try and get into Ravenclaw to ask if anyone wanted to come and help us fight," Dean explained, finding it immensely difficult to hold a conversation with someone who wasn't looking at him.

"Don't bother," Luna sighed. "They're all too afraid."

"Oh," Dean replied, feeling defeated.

"But I'll go with you," Luna added, finally looking at him.

"Oh," Dean repeated, rapidly discovering that maintaining eye contact with Luna Lovegood was no easy feat. She didn't seem to blink as often as normal people and Dean soon found his eyes watering on her behalf. Seeking a second option and a reason to look away, Dean shifted his gaze to Seamus, who shrugged noncommittally.

Struggling not to roll his eyes at his friends' response, Dean turned back to Luna and said, "Sounds great. We were going to try and get into Hufflepuff next."

Instead of responding, Luna turned and walked away, but she was heading in the right direction so Dean chose to take it as an expression of agreement and followed with Seamus right behind him.

They soon discovered that the strategy they'd hit upon by accident worked almost as well on purpose and before long they'd gotten quite good at employing it. Whenever they came upon a small group of Death Eaters, Dean and Seamus would lure them into a nearby hallway, where Luna would be waiting, and the Death Eaters' attempts to sneak up on her would invariably end with them lying unconscious on the floor. Only once did Dean and Seamus have to get involved in the last phase, when a Death Eater decided to attack Luna from afar instead of waiting until he'd gotten closer, but they made quick work of him. All in all, by the time they reached the lower floors they were feeling quite accomplished.

Indeed, the deeper the challenge seemed to be in finding a way to reach the Hufflepuffs. Seamus knew exactly where their common room was; having dated Megan Jones for most of fifth year, but getting inside was another matter entirely as they were faced with a portrait of the most stubborn zucchini any of them had ever encountered. Naturally, none of them had any idea what the password might be, so they tried to reason their way inside instead, but neither Luna's unique brand of logic nor Dean and Seamus's more straightforward versions had any effect.

Growing desperate, they'd just started pitching their arguments directly to the other vegetables in the picture when the Fat Friar floated through a nearby patch of wall. Thanking whatever fate that had decided to present a solution to them so neatly, Dean rushed forward to speak with him.

"Can you go back in there and ask them to let us in?"

"You aren't Hufflepuffs," the Fat Friar said, transparent brow knitting. "What are you doing here?"

"Please, we got locked out and just need a safe place to go," Dean begged, reasoning that the Fat Friar would be more likely to comply if he didn't know their actual intention was to recruit students to join the battle.

It seemed to work. The Fat Friar laid what was probably supposed to be a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder, but it was so cold that it actually left Dean feeling quite unsettled.

"I'll speak with them," the Fat Friar said before slipping back through the wall.

"Nice work," Seamus approved as they waited.

"Thanks," Dean said with a shrug.

A moment later the portrait opened just wide enough for Head Girl Susan Bones to poke her head out.

"What are you lot doing out here?" she demanded.

"Trying to get you lot to let us in," Dean replied, glancing away momentarily when the Fat Friar departed once again.

"What's wrong with Gryffindor and Ravenclaw," Susan demanded, looking worried.

"They're too far away," Dean said as though he'd been planning that answer all along and suddenly feeling very Slytherin.

Looking torn, Susan glanced between the three of them, stood aside, and said, "Fine, come in."

'Thanks," Dean replied as they followed her inside.

Despite having a true source of authority in Susan, the Hufflepuffs looked, if anything, even more terrified than the Gryffindors had been before Harry showed up. They hadn't even gotten as far as blocking up their entrance and fireplace. Most were huddled in tight groups and seemed to think that it was only a matter of time before their executioner came.

Feeling a bit out of place, Dean suggested most of the same modifications to their arrangement as Harry had given the Gryffindors, which were followed after only a brief explanation.

"Also," Dean added as the boys struggled to get into the girls' dormitories. "We're going to go back out there, so if any of the older students, particularly those who were in the DA, would like to come along-"

"I knew it," Susan hissed, cutting him off. "I knew you'd couldn't just come in and stay here."

"But you let us in anyway," Dean pointed out.

"I couldn't just leave you out there." Susan spat.

"Alright," Dean relented. "No one has to come along, we'll just go ourselves. I just thought some people might appreciate the chance to defend Hogwarts."

Susan visibly faltered but regained her resolve almost immediately.

"No. You're not going anywhere either. You'll just get yourselves killed."

"We haven't yet," Dean pointed out. "They need help out there and we're the only ones who can give it."

"We're not supposed to be fighting this war," Susan cried. "It's not our responsibility and we won't help anything by trying."

"We've already helped," Dean countered.

"Remember Cedric Diggory," Susan replied.

"What?" Dean stammered.

"Remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across-"

"Got that whole speech posted on your wall do you?" Dean demanded, finally realizing where she was getting all that from.

"Of course not," Susan shouted, but she cut herself off and lowered her voice. "It just kind of occurred to me when this started. I haven't been able to get it out of my head."

"We have to fight back," Dean said, just as quietly.

"That's easy for you to say," Susan replied, voice quivering. "Your hero came back."

"According to Harry, there were a million different reasons why he shouldn't have made it back either," Dean pointed out. "We can't just stay holed up in here because of what might happen."

"I'm your Head Girl," Susan replied, volume rising.

"Take all the points you like," Dean countered. "They're bloody useless anyway. Chuck us in detention; we'll serve it when we get back. Confiscate our wands and we'll fight without them. Tie us to chairs and we'll take them with us. You can't stop us from going back out there."

"At least I can say I tried," Susan said sadly.

"That's the spirit," Dean replied as he, Seamus, and Luna turned and left.

They'd only gone a few steps down the hallway when Seamus said, "You almost sounded like Harry back there."

"Thanks," Dean stammered. "I've had his speech stuck in my head this whole time."

"That was a good one," Seamus agreed.

"Sure was-"

"Wait!"

Startled, Dean, Seamus, and Luna spun to face the disturbance and found Hannah Abbott running toward them.

"I'm coming with you," she said.

"Great," Seamus replied. "Listen, we've worked out this great strategy-" 

"Actually," Hannah interrupted, "I don't want to fight. I need to get to the hospital wing."

"What for?" Dean asked, confused. She didn't seem to be injured.

"I've been studying some healing charms," Hannah explained. "I want to help Madam Pomphrey."

Dean, Seamus, and Luna glanced at each other.

"Alright," Dean said approvingly. "Hospital Wing it is."

"Listen, though," Dean added a few steps later as something occurred to him. "Don't tell Pomphrey that we're the ones who got you to come out like this. It'd get back to McGonagall eventually, and if she finds out students got involved she'll have…kittens." Dean trailed off when he realized what he just said. Any other day he probably would have laughed at the irony of his own statement, but this was hardly the time. Seamus seemed to appreciate it though, at Luna certainly did, being much freer with her laugher than he dared to be.

They didn't make it very far before coming across another group of Death Eaters, and while Dean, Seamus, and Luna were planning their attack, Hannah slipped behind the nearest tapestry to wait it out. She seemed to be nearly petrified with fear so they didn't bother trying to convince her to help.

When the coast was clear they returned to the tapestry, but Hannah was nowhere to be found. Growing panicked, they began searching for her. She'd seemed so scared that she might do anything, but surely she would have put up a fight if Death Eaters came. They were growing desperate when Luna at last spotted Hannah at the top of a staircase with a man whose red hair labeled him as a Weasley, though Dean couldn't be certain which one. Still, they all heaved a sigh of relief, knowing that Hannah was in good hands.

"We should try Slytherin next," Luna suggested idly.

Dean and Seamus glanced at each other, taken aback. Luna had come up with some gems over the years, but where they were standing that one topped them all.

"They're Death Eaters in training down there," Dean pointed out.

"All of them?" Luna said, fixing him again with that strange gaze.

"Guess not," Dean faltered, turning away.

"Alright then," Luna replied, walking past him.

Even as Dean turned to follow her, he couldn't help but hope that she didn't know where the Slytherin Common Room was any better than he or Seamus.

Their route took them past the row of unused classrooms on the first floor, but they paused when they heard footsteps from inside one of them. It sounded like some hoofed creature was frantically pacing. Dean hadn't been by there in so long that he forgot it was Firenze's classroom until Luna knocked and a deep voice beckoned them inside.

It was mostly like it had sounded from outside: Firenze was pacing endlessly across the dirt covered ground of his classroom, occasionally throwing a troubled glance at the enchanted sky above. Wordlessly, Luna detached herself from Dean and Seamus, wandered away, and laid down on a patch of ground near a tree in the corner to begin studying the sky herself.

"Are you alright, Professor?" Dean asked awkwardly. He'd been hoping that Luna might take this lead in this conversation.

"It's happening, isn't it," Firenze replied urgently without breaking step.

Dean didn't need to ask for clarification to know what 'it' was.

"Yeah, there are Death Eaters attacking the castle right now."

"The stars hang in the balance," Firenze continued. "This battle will decide the fate of the world."

Dean faltered. "I kind of wish you hadn't told me that," he stammered.

"It's Mars," Luna chimed in suddenly. "It's eclipsing Kaus Borealis."

"Even the human can see it," Firenze whispered, "but they cannot."

"Who can't see what?" Dean asked, growing worried.

"We've known it was possible for decades, centuries even," Firenze said, "but it was so unlikely. Impossible, some called it."

"Maybe they guessed," Luna offered soothingly, standing up to walk with Firenze.

"Centaurs do not trust to guesses," Firenze sighed. "I tried to warn them, but I am an outcast, they would not listen."

"Luna, will you please explain what's wrong," Dean demanded.

"Hogwarts isn't the only place in danger. Centaurs make predictions far ahead of time, but this eclipse is so unlikely, they wouldn't know it was happening unless they saw it, but Firenze is the only one who could because it's been too stormy."

It was strange. She didn't seem to be making any sense, yet she looked as lucid as Dean had ever seen her. It was obvious that if Dean wanted to know what was going on he would have to figure it out for himself.

"You're saying that the centaurs are in danger but don't know it because they haven't been able to see the stars."

"Yes."

"Professor Firenze is the only one who knows about it because he's got this enchanted ceiling."

"Yes."

"And the centaurs couldn't see it coming because whatever's happening is so unlikely."

"A planet eclipsing a star, there are few things more improbable."

"Does that cover everything?"

"Just about," Luna confirmed.

"Why don't you just go down there and tell them, or help them or whatever you need to do," Dean offered, turning to Firenze.

"I'd be killed for returning," Firenze sighed, sounding as though he'd already had to present himself with the same reasoning.

"Not if you're right," Dean countered. "If they're really in as much trouble as you think they are then they probably won't have the time to worry about you."

Firenze didn't respond, but stopped pacing and looked up to study the stars.

Frustrated, Dean cried, "Forget the stars! What's more important to you, your life or your herd?"

Again, Firenze remained silent, but this time he bounded to the door, pulled it open, and galloped down the hallway.

"You should consider making a living out of giving speeches like that," Seamus said, sounding impressed.

"You think?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Seamus confirmed. "You almost had me racing out there to save the centaurs."

"Slytherin?" Luna said pointedly, drawing the boys from their banter.

"Oh, right," Dean sighed, following her out of the classroom with some reluctance and wishing that the incident with Firenze could have made her forget about her plan to galvanize the Slytherins into action.

He needn't have worried. They hadn't gotten very far at all when they caught sight of a long line of Ravenclaws ducking between two concealed passageways, several of them certainly first years. Concerned that the Ravenclaws had decided to join the fight after all, Dean, Seamus, and Luna hurried to fall in with them.

"Where are you going?" Luna asked as younger student whom she seemed to know but Dean had never seen before.

"Home," the student replied, face cracking into a tense smile.

"You've got no floo powder, no Portkey," Luna pointed out. "How do you plan to get home?"

"The house-elves are showing us," the student said.

"House-elves?" Dean asked, forgetting to keep walking in his confusion.

A moment later his question was answered as a tiny, tea towel clad elf appeared before him.

"You must be keeping up, sir," he said. "We has no time to waste."

"Where are we going?" Dean asked, forcing himself to continue.

"Hogsmeade," the elf replied. "We go where the fires are unblocked to send you to Saint Mungo's."

"What if we don't want to go," Dean asked. He didn't want to pay a visit to the Slytherins, but he didn't want to leave the fight early either.

"You must!" the house elf cried, looking thunderstruck.

"The Headmistress ordered us to escort all the students safely out of the castle."

Dean's hand tightened around his wand as he prepared to fight his way past if he had to, but Seamus grabbed his wrist.

"Don't try it. House elves can be powerful creatures when ordered to."

So Dean gave up his attempts to return to the battle and allowed himself to be escorted to an abandoned Hogsmeade with the Ravenclaws.

As he waited in line to be sent through the floo network he couldn't help but note how changed the village looked compared to only a few hours before. The street lamps were unlit and the sky was dark with rain, but what little he could see was broken and dilapidated and not at all the cozy village he'd spent so many pleasant weekends exploring.

When he reached Saint Mungo's, Dean was shown to a large room where most of the rest of the students were waiting. He milled around with Seamus and Luna for awhile as the rest of the school slowly trickled in, and they passed the time recounting their exploits during the battle and generally feeling like a trio of old war heroes. He'd had his doubts about Luna at first, but now Dean had to admit that while she was still completely crazy, it was in a good way. He was even about to tell her so when he spotted Susan Bones, pacing rapidly and looking quite troubled, so he excused himself to go speak with her.

Susan didn't seem to notice him right way, so Dean touched her elbow as she passed, which turned out to be a bit too effective because she gasped and jumped.

"Sorry," Dean fumbled. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's alright," Susan replied, still looking very much on edge as she lowered herself weakly only a nearby bed. "I just…"

Dean waited, hoping very much that she would continue on her own. He'd never before had the distinction of speaking to a girl when she was in a state like this, and thought that this wasn't really the time to try. Still, when Susan remained silent he knew he had to say something.

"You did a good job," he offered, taking a seat next to her.

"I'm Head Girl and I stayed holed up in my common room."

"What were you supposed to do? You were cut off from the rest of the school. You kept your House safe, let that be enough."

"I didn't really do much to help that."

"I suppose you didn't have much to worry about anyway. You've got a very stubborn zucchini guarding your House."

"What, Alfred?" Susan asked. "Yeah, he's great."

"You named the zucchini?" Dean said, flabbergasted.

"I didn't," Susan replied, "but someone did. He'd been Alfred for as long as I've been at Hogwarts."

"Our portrait doesn't have a name," Dean said, "and it's a person. We just call her the Fat Lady. It's a wonder she doesn't get offended."

Susan giggled quietly and they sat in companionable silence for a few moments before Dean suggested, "Maybe we should make sure everyone made it here."

Susan jumped to her feet almost immediately and began ordering the Prefects to count the students in their Houses, and when they came up short they asked the Healers for a list of all the students being treated elsewhere, and when they came up short again Dean helped carry out Head Boy Terry Boot's plan to send owls to the students who were still missing to see if they'd turned up somewhere else, and then there was nothing left except to wait for the owls to come back or a Healer to come by with news. It was horrible to do nothing but they were trapped in that room, so they waited.


	7. The Story of the Devoted Follower

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.

**Chapter 7: The Story of the Devoted Follower**

"Good afternoon, Severus, may I come in?"

The man gave no sign that he was happy or worried or surprised to see her; he simply stood aside and watched as Bellatrix Lestrange slipped through the door and into his dingy sitting room.

"Would you like anything to drink?" Severus offered as he pulled the door shut behind her.

"No, thank you," Bellatrix replied, settling herself on a moth eaten chair. Life on the run had not been kind to the former potions master, but this was perhaps his meanest situation yet. "I don't intend to stay long."

"As you wish," Severus replied impassively, seating himself as well. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I was simply hoping to check up on my nephew."

There is was, subtle but clear, a crack in the mask he'd been wearing since their encounter began.

"I'm afraid Draco isn't here."

"I see," Bellatrix sighed, forcing herself to look disappointed, but she'd already supposed as much. "That is unfortunate. Sissy's been very concerned about him, but couldn't come herself without risking discovery, so she asked me to visit in her stead."

"I understand," Severus said without a hint of emotion. "But I can assure you that Draco is in very excellent care."

"Andromeda's, perhaps?"

Severus flinched visibly, his emotionless facade momentarily forgotten, and a look of concern passed his normally unreadable features, confirming that Bellatrix had been correct in her guess. In fact, she'd suspected that her blood traitor sister had been harboring her nephew all along. She would have inquired at Andromeda's first if Draco was truly the person she wanted to see.

"I must admit I was surprised to see you," Severus said.

"Oh?" Bellatrix replied. Let him think that she'd missed his slip. Let him think that he was still safe.

"Yes," Snape continued, his mask no longer as firm as when she'd first arrived. "I haven't heard from any fellow Death Eaters in weeks. In fact, many said that you'd all gone to Albania to regroup."

"Is that so?" Bellatrix replied, feigning confusion.

"Yes," Snape said, but it was clear that he was beginning to catch on. That was unfortunately, really. Bellatrix had been hoping to keep stringing him along for awhile yet.

"That's strange," Bellatrix said, watching carefully to gauge his reaction. "I can't imagine why everyone would lie about something like that to a loyal Death Eater like you."

Severus tensed. Bellatrix smiled.

"Unless…oh, Severus," Bellatrix continued patronizingly, but it was obvious that he knew this was exactly the topic she'd been intending to discuss when she arrived. "How could you?"

"Bella, you know I-"

"How could you ever think you could fool the Dark Lord," she snapped, her patience evaporating when her pet name passed his traitor's lips. "You nearly convinced me the night you made the unbreakable vow with my sister, but not him, never him."

"Where are the Death Eaters, if they're not in Albania?" Snape asked.

"Yes, that would interest you," Bellatrix laughed. "They are currently gathering to learn the Dark Lord's plan. I must be leaving soon myself. You see, in less than an hour we are going to attack Hogwarts."

Snape stiffened, then said, "More lies, Hogwarts is too well protected."

"It used to be, but now that old fool Dumbledore is gone…" Snape wasn't quick enough to check his angry look and Bellatrix laughed again before continuing. "The wards as they stood were barely sufficient to repel us, and today they are even weaker."

Snape surged to his feet, but Bellatrix was faster and placed herself between him and the door. There was no other exit; she'd made sure of that when she arranged for Severus to hide in this shack.

"Why did you tell me all that?" Snape asked warily.

"Because," Bellatrix shrugged, and then in two quick flicks of her wand she disarmed and petrified him. Shoving a foot under his arm and kicking his stiff form onto his back, she continued, "I intended to ensure that you could never leave this place. Crucio."

Severus clenched his eyes shut and struggled for breath, but the effect was altogether unsatisfying. Bellatrix truly preferred to watch her victims squirm, hear them scream, but it was a small loss: she'd have plenty of people to torture soon enough.

Bellatrix pocketed both wands and turned to the door.

"No need to get up, I'll see myself out. Good night, Severus."

--------------

There were so many, the greatest gathering of Death Eaters ever assembled. Nearly a hundred stood there, filling the air with their cheers whenever the Dark Lord paused for breath. Most of them had joined recently, since the start of the new war. They'd probably never even seen the Dark Lord before, and now they counted themselves privileged to be asked into his presence. They were deluded. The Dark Lord didn't trust them any more than he trusted the traitors of the first war, who chose to lie rather than go to Azkaban. There was only a select few who still retained the Dark Lord's absolute trust. Rodolphus and Rabastan were among them, but she, Bellatrix, was favored more than all the rest. That was why the Dark Lord had asked her to settle the problem of Severus Snape and to remain behind when he finished speaking to explain his cunningly constructed plan to the lowlifes before them. She took great pleasure in doing so, dividing them up into groups and declaring where and how they would attack, telling them that Potter was to be brought before the Dark Lord unharmed, and squashing any speculation about why the Dark Lord has such an interest in the boy. By far her favorite part was when she got to tell a hand picked group of Death Eaters that they would be escorting a Chimera through the Forbidden Forest and to the grounds of Hogwarts. She always enjoyed watching fear in the faces of her victims, and that time she hadn't even needed to raise a wand.

An hour later Bellatrix had slipped into Hogwarts through a passage from Honeydukes in Hogsmeade that Pettigrew had recommended. She was accompanied by a small group of Death Eaters, but she soon parted company with them and struck out on her own. Bellatrix's warning about Potter at the gathering had only been a courtesy. She intended to find the brat herself and present him to the Dark Lord, thus proving herself to be the greatest Death Eater.

She knew the spell was coming a moment before it reached her. The caster was cocky, celebrating his triumph too soon, and it gave him away. Bellatrix deflected the spell easily and felt the happiness that was emanating from behind an almost closed door a few steps behind her collapse into dread. This would be an easy kill, and a fun one, and the anticipation was enough to drive even the prospect of capturing Harry Potter from her mind.

Bellatrix turned back to the door, wand raised. Whoever had tried to attack her was still there, frantically attempting to find another place he could surprise her from, his thoughts repeatedly drifting back to…his wife. Sometimes, the benefits of knowing Legilimency surprised even her, facing this one would be more fun than she ever could have hoped.

"I know you're in here," Bellatrix cooed, pushing the door open and slipping inside. "You thought you could sneak up on me, and I can't have anyone running off with that idea."

But there was no response, not even in her opponent's thoughts. He seemed to have mastered himself at last, and Bellatrix simply couldn't allow that.

"How's your wife? Well, I suppose? Though I wouldn't expect her to stay that way. Hogwarts isn't the only place of interest to my Master."

There it was, a sudden thrill of fear: cold, overwhelming, and betraying. Her would-be assailant was cowering behind the Professor's desk.

Bellatrix waved her wand and the desk crumpled into sawdust, but at the same moment her opponent stood, his own wand raised. Three scars, wide and deep, disfigured his face. His bright red hair was tied into a ridiculous ponytail and a large fang hung from one ear. He was a Weasley, she might have known.

However, the next thing to happen caught Bellatrix off guard, though not Weasley, and made Bellatrix wonder if she might have underestimated him after all.

A spell hit her foot, hot and sharp and almost entirely distracting, but it wasn't Weasley who cast it, it was a wizard who Bellatrix had somehow missed before. He was standing in the doorway, and between him and Weasley, Bellatrix was now surrounded. The meddling blighters must have planned this all along. Bellatrix had encountered the wizard before, but never troubled to learn his name, Dodge, she thought it was, or Doge.

Bellatrix was now in a most unfavorable position indeed. No matter which enemy she chose to face, she would be turning her back on the other one. If she allowed the situation to continue there was no doubt that she would come off worse in this encounter, so it was fortunate that she had the solution.

Never taking her eyes off Doge, she pointed her wand at Weasley and performed a spell that would cause the first thing it contacted to explode.

Weasley dodged it and Bellatrix cast the same spell again, this time aiming for a place a short distance to his side, forcing him to leap away again, closer to Doge. His control was slipping again, even though she wasn't looking at him, Bellatrix could tell that Weasley knew what she was doing, but he could see no way to stop it. The other wizard was no help to him either. He tried to cast a few spells, but Bellatrix was able to disperse them easily. Thirty seconds later the classroom was in shambles, but Weasley and Doge were standing next to each other and Bellatrix's position was much improved. Now they could have a proper duel.

"Crucio!" Bellatrix cried gleefully, and Doge crumpled to the ground, screaming in pain.

It seemed like a fitting retaliation for the pain Doge had caused to Bellatrix's foot, but Bellatrix had been too enthusiastic and misjudged her timing. Weasley was a bit singed but still quite able to prevent his cohort from being tortured.

Weasley attempted to disarm her, forcing a choice between continuing to torture Doge and losing her wand. It was no choice really, if she lost her wand the spell would end anyway. Bellatrix blocked Weasley's spell and sent another one back in return. They dueled, more or less undistracted by the other wizard, who was still struggling to his feet. He'd likely never been the recipient of the Cruciatus Curse before: of all the reactions Bellatrix had witnessed, his was among the most pathetic.

However, this encounter was growing old, finding Potter was beginning to regain its appeal, and Weasley was proving himself to be more than a mere nuisance.

It seemed somehow unsporting to call such an abrupt end to their duel. As opponents went, this Weasley had to be admired: his offensive skills were lackluster, but he seemed to know the counter curse to every Dark spell she knew at him. Still, she had more important things to do.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Weasley stepping aside, dodging the spell, Doge did not. Bellatrix had just enough time to curse her luck before something odd happened. It was as though a thick fog had settled in her brain and everything she thought about turned up in the wrong spot. No matter which direction she thought Weasley was about to dodge or what defense she thought he was about to use, he always went the other way. Not a single one of her spells struck home. What's more, she seemed to have grown somehow sluggish and uncoordinated herself and was suddenly falling prey to almost all of Weasley's spells.

Eventually, her dulled mind determined a solution. She used the same exploding spells she'd employed to force Weasley across the room, only this time with no consideration for where they fell or how many she cast. Before long, Weasley had no choice but to flee.

When she was satisfied that Weasley was gone, Bellatrix made to leave as well, only to discover a setback her fogged mind had failed to anticipate: the damage from her explosions had blocked her way to the door. With an audible growl, Bellatrix turned to the unblocked wall, blasted her way though to the classroom next door, and left by that route, misjudging the width of the doorframe and hitting her shoulder as she went.

Bellatrix was so distracted by the fog in her mind and her mobile attempts to reverse the jinxes Weasley had hit her with, she was half way down the nearest staircase before she realized that she'd been intending to search upstairs for Potter. The next person she met was going to dearly regret that there was no reversal for the Confundus Charm.

As it transpired, that next person was another Death Eater, a woman, but someone Bellatrix didn't recognize. Still, as they passed in the hallway, she sensed something familiar about her.

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure," Bellatrix said, coming to a halt in contemplation. Behind her, she heard the woman spin around to look at her.

"Sorry?" she asked.

"We've never been introduced," Bellatrix clarified, back still turned, trying to determine where she'd met this woman.

"You're Mrs. Lestrange, aren't you? Your reputation precedes you."

There it was, a touch of hesitation just before she said Bellatrix's name. This other woman obviously knew her, but hadn't been sure what to call her. Bellatrix must know her as well, and there was only one person she knew who could disguise herself so expertly. Bellatrix had known her as an Auror, but she was wearing the robes of a Death Eater now, she must have changed sides. The Dark Lord must be pleased to have a Metamorphmagus in his service.

"What I meant was, I haven't met you," Bellatrix said, turning to face her niece.

"Calyn Moriarty," Nymphadora replied swiftly. She must have rehearsed that.

"Moriarty," Bellatrix said, "that's an unusual name. Not, unless I am very much mistaken, one of the pure-blood houses."

"My father was Muggle-born."

Bellatrix had to mask a smirk. That, at least had been the truth.

"I see. And your mother's maiden name?"

"Er," Nymphadora stuttered, stuck, but Bellatrix had already seen another weakness in her story and exploited it, perhaps a bit too quickly.

"The name sounds familiar."

"I think my father once mentioned that his Uncle tried to run for Prime Minister. You might have seen it in the papers."

Nymphadora was grasping now, and they both knew it.

"No, that can't be it, because I seem to remember my sister telling me about a character by the name of Moriarty, in a book she read with her Muggle-born boyfriend."

"Oh?" Nymphadora replied, practically oozing fear now.

"Quite a coincidence, I'll agree," Bellatrix said airily, enjoying the conversation. "Interestingly, again according to my sister, this Moriarty was supposed to be something of a criminal mastermind. That same sister now has a daughter, who happens to be a Metamorphmagus, but you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Nymphadora?"

Bellatrix smiled and put a hand on Nymphadora's shoulder.

"I knew you'd come around eventually. I can understand you wanting to keep it secret from Andromeda and those Aurors you've taken up with, but you could have told me.

Nymphadora stared, her mouth dropping open slightly. She must have thought that no one would have been able to recognize her through her disguise, but she should have known that she wouldn't be able to fool her own Aunt. Furthermore, she should have known that having an Aunt in Bellatrix Lestrange would have helped her immensely as a Death Eater; she could have avoided all the unpleasant tasks new Death Eaters were forced to perform; she could have even met the Dark Lord himself, by now.

"I know," Nymphadora said. "I should have told you, but I was so worried that my joining the Death Eaters would get back to someone that I decided not to tell anyone who I really was."

"You'll find that we do not take well to secrets," Bellatrix said, her pride slipping into concern. "As soon as this battle is over you should go to the Dark Lord and give him your true identity. It will be much worse for you if he discovers it on his own."

"I understand," Nymphadora said. "I should go, I was on my way to-"

"Of course," Bellatrix interrupted. "I have important business myself."

Nymphadora turned away, but Bellatrix grabbed her arm and pulled her into a hug. The last time she'd met her niece they were on opposite sides of the battle in the Department of Mysteries. They'd tried to do horrible things to each other and meant to do worse, but now they were on the same side. It was like having her niece back again, and, by proxy, her sister. After a long moment, they released each other and turned away, back to their war.

After another hour of wandering Hogwarts, neatly incapacitating any opposition she came across but with no sign of Potter, Bellatrix was beginning to get frustrated, and, truth be told, a bit sloppy. Thus, she was almost surprised when Neville Longbottom burst out from behind a tapestry and pointed his wand at her.

"Ah! Ickle Longbottom," Bellatrix cooed. "I wondered if I'd be seeing you here."

"Neville! Are you sure you want to do this?"

Bellatrix turned to the source of the second voice and found Harry Potter ducking out from behind the tapestry as well. She blinked, her usual smile nearly faltering in her surprise. Through all her searching, she had never anticipated that Potter might present himself to her so easily.

"Do you?" Neville replied, half turning to Harry but never letting her out of his sight. This one thought he knew how to deal with Death Eaters, he might even try to duel her. Yes, the look in his eye as he turned back to her confirmed it and Bellatrix's smile returned. She could not deny that she had much desired the opportunity to face this child once again. Harry Potter thought himself noble; he wouldn't leave until this was finished.

"Even little Harry Potter is afraid to face me," Bellatrix said gloatingly, "but you think you can do it alone? This should be entertaining."

Longbottom raised his wand and gave it a flick, but the spell went wide and missed entirely. Bellatrix stepped aside and looked behind her to see where the spell went and was surprised to see that a suit of armor there had sprung to life, but only long enough to raise its sword threateningly before freezing in place.

"Ooh, a distraction," Bellatrix said, turning back to Neville. "I'll be sure to watch out for that." And without another word on the subject she raised her wand and cast sectumsempra.

Longbottom fell backwards even before the spell met him, but he managed to cast a shield charm in time. The rest of his little friends, all but one of those she'd met in the Department of Mysteries, rushed forward to help, but he waved them off, foolish Gryffindor.

"Eager for more?" Bellatrix laughed, seeing his determined face. "I'll see what I can do, then."

She sent another curse his direction, but Longbottom jumped out of the way this time and fired one back. Bellatrix easily deflected it and returned another, beginning to enjoy this battle, a bit of sport that she was sure to win, a warm up before she took on Potter and his friends.

Then, unexpectedly, Bellatrix found herself forced backwards off her feet. Longbottom had finally landed a spell. But she didn't fall to the ground, she fell into the suit of armor Longbottom had tried to transfigure earlier, and the raised sword impaled her through the stomach. Bellatrix glanced down to study the wound, then threw her head back and laughed, choking slightly on the blood.

She knew already that this wound would be her undoing, maybe not if she were anywhere else, but there were no healers here, not for her. Still, there was a certain beauty to the fact that the last thing she'd ever do would be to torture Longbottom the same way she had his parents.

"Cruc-!"

But he didn't let her finish. She hadn't gotten the spell out before Longbottom yelled, "Stupefy!" and all went black.


	8. The Story of the Rebel

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.

**Chapter 8: The Story of the Rebel**

Ginny was walking around the lake, dully tossing pebbles at the water. She wasn't really trying, but every once in a while she'd get one to skip, a small setback, for she liked to imagine that her pebbles were wreaking havoc with the Grindylows and Merfolk that had caused Harry so much trouble when he'd gone into the lake to rescue Ron and came out having saved Gabrielle as well. Logic told her that was impossible, but she shoved that aside and hit her next rock with a charm for speed as it flew. The pebble skipped four times before settling into the water.

Frustrated, Ginny turned away from the lake and discovered that her feet had nearly carried her to the beech tree. She focused her attention on those traitorous appendages until she was past.

That must have been her third time around the lake, but Ginny chucked another rock at the water and started in on a fourth. She had no desire to return to the castle where she'd been cooped up for most of the past year, and even less to venture to Hogsmeade, where Harry, Ron, Hermione and most of the rest of the school was spending the day.

Ginny had promised herself, sworn to herself, that she wouldn't do it, wouldn't become that girl who stays locked in her tower and pines after her hero. She'd managed it for awhile too, even ventured a study date, but it had been clear from the start that her heart wasn't in it and her date, Terry Boot, had been so thunderstruck about being asked out by Harry Potter's ex-girlfriend that he hadn't even been able to tell her where she was going wrong with inanimate transfigurations. After that she'd made several clever attempts to join Harry, Ron, and Hermione on whatever quest they were on, but security around Hogwarts was so tight that she was always caught before even leaving the grounds, costing Gryffindor several house points in the process. Eventually, she'd simply had to conclude that, for better or worse, a tower was where she was locked, and the entire country was pining after her hero, so she might as well join in.

Things only got more complicated during the few instances when Ginny and Harry saw each other: Bill's wedding, Christmas, and the two times he'd shown up at Hogwarts during the school year. They hadn't gone out of their way to avoid each other, but somehow managed it anyway. Ginny couldn't imagine that more than a hundred words had passed between them since Dumbledore's funeral.

Still, Ginny couldn't go anywhere or do anything without being haunted by her memories of Harry. She couldn't catch the snitch without remembering watching in excitement as Harry did the same. She couldn't captain the Quidditch team without giving the same insightful advice Harry had given last year, despite having only ever played the seeker position himself. She couldn't visit the Burrow without remembering the summers Harry had spent there with Ron, and, by proxy, with her. She couldn't spend time in the Great Hall or Gryffindor Common Room without remembering the times when Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been there with her. She couldn't walk past the beech tree without remembering the times she'd spent there with Harry. She couldn't even walk into the Charms classroom without wondering where Harry's usual seat was and if it was anywhere near hers. It seemed pathetic even in her own head, but, try as she might, it wasn't something she could help.

She managed to keep up appearances as best she knew how, but privately she couldn't help but wonder if she'd lost that, whatever it was, that made her Ginny Weasley. That thing that made her stand up to six older brothers, and gave her guts enough to steal their brooms when they refused to let her play Quidditch with them, and helped her master most spells without ever really trying. Sometimes she hated Harry Potter for stealing that from her. Other times she hoped it was serving him well, wherever he was.

Ginny's thoughts were rudely interrupted when a fat drop of rain fell on her head, followed by another and another in an increasingly insistent series. After considering and rejecting the idea of staying outside just to spite the weather, she lobbed the rest of her pebbles at the lake, kicked in a few more from the ground for good measure, and hurried toward the castle.

After pausing in the Entrance Hall to dry her clothes and hair, Ginny wandered slowly up the stairs, entertaining the possibility of several destinations, but in the end she found herself in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady and entered, supposing the Gryffindor Common Room was as good a place as any.

She was drying the robes of some younger students who'd been caught in the storm as well and contemplating the best way to con them into a pounding at gobstones when Headmistress McGonagall's voice, magically amplified, reached them.

"Students, report to your houses at once. House guards seals yourselves in ten minutes. Teachers to your positions. This is very real."

Everyone froze. It felt like all the air in had been sucked out of the place. Even though it looked as warm and inviting as ever, the Gryffindor Common Room had never before felt so oppressive.

The portrait hole creaked open and Ginny spun and aimed the first spell she could think of at the entrance without pausing to notice that they were being joined by a group of students who looked at least as terrified as the rest of them. Fortunately, the first spell that had come to Ginny's mind was the same drying charm she'd just been using on the younger students.

Students continued to rush in over the next few minutes, in groups of twos and threes and sometimes larger, looking increasingly terrified as time progressed, then Dean and Seamus surged inside and no more followed.

Unexpectedly, Ginny became aware that she was staring at the two seventh years, not because there was anything about their appearance worth staring at, but because she was somehow expecting them to do something, and she didn't have to look around to know that she wasn't the only person with that idea. The seventh year Prefects remained, inconveniently enough, Ron and Hermione, and the Head Boy and Girl were in other houses, so it seemed only logical to look to the seventh years for instructions. Dean and Seamus seemed to understand that, even though they didn't know what to do about it. Neither did Neville, by the look of him, but he got up from his chair by the fire to stand with his roommates anyway.

"I think they expect us to say something," Ginny heard Neville whisper.

"You think?" Dean spat back.

"Prefects, come up here," Seamus suggested, the most sensible thing Ginny had overheard yet.

Ginny almost approached with Mark Williams and Jennifer Hanson, the only Prefects present, but ultimately stayed back. After all, what advice could she possibly give? It wasn't as though being Ron's sister and Harry's ex-girlfriend imbued her with any special knowledge. The only real insight she had came from being involved in the battle in the Department of Mysteries, but Neville had been there as well.

However, after watching the five of them quarrel and become increasingly short with each other, Ginny knew that they would not come up with a solution. What's more, their argument was having a dire effect on the younger students, who seemed to be succumbing to their fear one by one and freezing up. There was only one solution she could think of to remedy that: they needed to do something, no matter how ineffective it might be.

"Hey," Ginny said, turning to the closest person to her, a first year she didn't know by name.

She jumped and turned to face Ginny without speaking.

"Help me out a minute," Ginny continued, pulling her to the nearest sofa and recruiting the people who'd been sitting on it to help as well. Together they began pushing the sofa over to the portrait hole. The seventh years and the Prefects stopped arguing to watch them.

"Um, Gin?" Dean asked.

"Yeah?" Ginny replied.

"Whatcha doing?" Dean said.

"Blocking the entrance."

"But that sofa isn't nearly tall enough," Dean pointed out.

He had her there, but admitting that wouldn't do anything to help the other students, who she'd been quite right in assuming simply needed something productive to do. Fortunately, improvisation was one of her strong suits.

"And you don't think anyone coming through the portrait hole will trip with this sitting right here," Ginny said, leaving the first sofa to recruit a second set of younger students to move another sofa in front of the fireplace.

Together, the whole house helped create a bunker of sorts out of tables and chairs, but when that was finished they found themselves quite without anything else to do except hide and wait.

Ginny had placed herself at the very front of the bunker, between Neville and Dean, where they kneeled, wands ready. She thought she was prepared, that she knew what she would do if the portrait hole opened, but when it finally did she found herself frozen. She watched as the shape of a person slipped through the hole and into the Common Room, trying and failing to think of a spell, any spell, that would help them. Then the figure stepped into the light and Ginny saw the most beautiful sight she could imagine: Harry. She forced her limbs to move and rushed forward to speak with him, Dean, Seamus, and Neville right behind her.

"What's happening?" she asked. "McGonagall announced that we should lock ourselves in our houses as quickly as possible, but that was over an hour ago, we haven't heard anything else since."

"Voldemort's attacking Hogwarts," Harry replied grimly. "He's somewhere in the castle. The Order, the Aurors, Ron, Hermione, and I are looking for him, but the Death Eaters are giving us trouble."

"Why would You-Know-Who come here?" Neville asked. "Is he looking for something?"

"Yes," Harry replied reluctantly. "We think he's looking for me."

"Why you?" Seamus demanded.

"That's complicated," Harry sighed. "The point is that I can't stay here much longer without putting you all in danger."

Harry turned to the rest of the students in the Common Room.

"Listen up. You all deserve to know that Hogwarts is currently being attacked by some very bad wizards. Does anyone have any Floo Powder?"

The fact that Harry asked that question at all was a mark of how little time he'd spent at Hogwarts that year. Heightened security of the school had led to occasional checks to ensure that no one had any banned substances, among them, Floo Powder. Fred and George might have managed to slip some past Filch and Mrs. Norris, but none of the students present, not even Ginny, approached their prowess at rule breaking. Any Floo Powder in the house would have been confiscated long ago.

"Alright," Harry relented when the others confirmed that they had no Floo Powder. "The Fat Lady should be able to stop anyone who shouldn't be in here, but we have to make sure this place can be well defended, just in case. It would be best if first, second, and third years go lock themselves in the dormitories, the girls' side if the boys can make it up there, since the staircase will slow down most of the Death Eaters. Should anything go wrong up there, third years, you'll be in charge of defending the younger students. Everyone else, it's your task to make sure they don't have to by stopping any intruders before they have a chance to get upstairs. Should it come down to it, Fred and George's fireworks make an excellent distraction. There's a stash of them in the seventh year boys' dormitory."

Ginny was aware that Harry's suggestions made sense, and that it would be in their best interest to follow them, but she was beginning to feel frozen again. Building a barricade was one thing, but the idea of organizing their defenses was somehow terrifying, like a battle was inevitable if they only waited long enough. And they'd already been waiting for an entire, horrifying hour, how much longer would it be before they were rescued?

Harry looked around, waiting for someone to begin carrying out his instructions, but no one did, no one could.

"Come on you lot. We're Gryffindors, famed for our bravery. Each and every one of you was put into this house for a reason. The Sorting Hat saw courage in you, live up to it! Tonight we are all in danger, and tonight we may all be called upon in this battle. I know you're afraid, I know you don't want to fight, but if it comes down to it, you will have the choice to give up or to strike back. You can't give up. Together, you can face anything that comes through that portrait; all you need is to be ready for it."

Everyone remained still, but there was an obvious change in the air. Ginny could almost feel Harry's words coursing through her, reminding her of her courage, of why she was Ginny Weasley.

"What about the students in other houses?" someone asked from inside the barricade.

"Unfortunately, without their passwords there's nothing I can do for them, but if I see anyone I'll remind them to check on their houses," Harry said, smiling slightly despite his answer. "Now the, first, second, and third years upstairs, everyone else down here. DA members should stay in change here…"

Now that was something Ginny simply couldn't stand for. If there was a fight going on then she would be damned before she allowed herself to be forced to keep out of it by the likes of Harry Potter. He caught her angry look, faltered, and changed tracks almost immediately.

"…or, if you're willing, you can come out and help."

"We're with you Harry," Ginny confirmed. Neville, Dean, and Seamus nodded.

"Alright, I just need the Marauder's Map; I'll be back in a minute."

The rest of the students were organizing themselves and Harry dashed upstairs. In the meantime, Neville, Dean, and Seamus helped the older students arrange themselves to defend the tower and Ginny levitated the younger boys up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. By the time Harry made it back downstairs, the Common Room was a changed place.

"I guess we're ready, then," Harry said, and they left through the portrait hole.

Ginny followed him through and arrived in time to see Ron and Hermione slip out from under Harry's invisibility cloak, looking surprised to see her, Neville, and the rest.

"They wanted to help," Harry said, correctly interpreting their expressions.

"I'm not sure how much use this is going to be, then," Ron said, handing Harry back his cloak. "There's no way we'll all fit under there."

Harry's face fell and so did Ginny's, he hadn't considered that.

"I guess not," he said, accepting the cloak nevertheless.

"Listen, Harry, why don't Seamus and I go and see if we can check on the other houses," Dean said insightfully. "We've got some friends in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff and we know where their common rooms are."

Ginny felt her heart skip a beat in spite of herself. Dean and Seamus had never been in a battle before; they had no idea what they were getting into. Harry knew that, he had to.

"Alright, if you're sure. Be careful, though," Harry said reluctantly, contradicting Ginny's prediction. She nearly shouted advice after them, but they were already gone. They were a year ahead of her, she assured herself, they knew more spells than she did, they could take care of themselves.

Ginny remained distracted until Hermione grabbed her arm and pulled her into the nearest secret passageway with the rest and they spent several minutes pouring over the Marauder's Map, at last locating Tom Riddle on the second floor.

Now that they knew where Voldemort was, they set off at a hurry to avoid losing him again, but were held up only a short distance later. There was a Death Eater lying dead in the hallway. Ginny didn't recognize him, but the sight gave Harry, Ron, and especially Hermione pause. In fact, she seemed so distraught that she forgot she was supposed to be minding the map, so Ginny took it from her. Hermione didn't even notice, in fact, she didn't look away from the Death Eater until Ron grabbed her shoulders and guided her a few steps away.

"The other Death Eaters must have noticed that something was different about him," Harry sighed cryptically, and that was all that any of them said on the subject.

Ginny glanced down at the map and found that Voldemort was speaking with two other Death Eaters. They had no more time to waste and she motioned for the rest of them to hurry up. One level, two levels, three levels they descended without incident. On the fourth floor Ginny saw a group of Death Eaters approaching. She was quite sure they could manage them, but Harry insisted on finding another way, so they did. However, on that other way they ran into worse trouble still.

When Ginny inspected the map and saw her coming, she didn't even pause to think, she simply motioned to the others to hide. The closest place was a large tapestry, which they ducked behind, but it wouldn't be nearly sufficient, not if she was paying attention.

"What's going-" Ron began, but Ginny threw an arm across his face to shut him up.

Ginny turned to the map again, hoping she'd been mistaken, but she was not. Bellatrix Lestrange was approaching along their hallway. Ginny felt her insides clench in fear.

If Voldemort had been the devil of her childhood then Bellatrix Lestrange had been the boogeyman. Fred and George had taken great pleasure in telling exaggerated tales of Bellatrix's deeds during the first war and had only stopped when a five year old Ginny had woken up from a nightmare, run to her parents' room, and tearfully begged her father to check if Bellatrix Lestrange was under her bed. What's more, somehow, learning Bellatrix's true nature and encountering her briefly during the battle at the Department of Mysteries had done nothing to tarnish that childhood image.

However, Ginny's hopes of escaping the situation without encountering Bellatrix yet again were dashed a moment later when Neville peaked around the tapestry, saw who they were hiding from, and promptly dashed out to confront her.

"Neville, where are you going?" Hermione whispered after him, but he was already gone.

"Ah! Ickle Longbottom. I wondered if I'd be seeing you here," Bellatrix said in her horrible, cooing voice.

"Neville!" Harry yelped, dashing out from behind the tapestry himself. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Do you?" Neville countered.

Ginny didn't need to look at Harry to know the confused, faltering look he must be wearing. He didn't want to kill Bellatrix himself, but he didn't want Neville to have to do it either.

"Even little Harry Potter is afraid to face me, but you think you can do it alone?" Bellatrix laughed. "This should be entertaining."

Ginny was still behind the tapestry with Ron and Hermione, but she heard the whoosh of a spell and ducked back into the open just in time to see a suit of armor behind Bellatrix raise its sword. Ginny had no idea what Neville had hoped to accomplish with that, but it was obvious that he hadn't managed it.

"Ooh, a distraction," Bellatrix said. "I'll be sure to watch out for that."

And Bellatrix raised her wand. Almost immediately, a bright purple spell raced to Neville, who stumbled backwards, narrowly managing to cast a shield over himself before it reached him.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny started forward to help, but, amazingly, Neville held up his hand, telling them to stop. His other hand was clasping at his ribs. Bellatrix's spell must have gotten through his shield.

"Eager for more?" Bellatrix laughed. "I'll see what I can do, then."

They began to duel again, but Neville was so very outclassed that it was almost painful to watch. Time and time again he was forced to leap out of the way of his opponent's spells, surely only aggravating the pain in his ribs, and almost all of his own spells were entirely ineffective.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny exchanged grim looks. It was time for them to intervene. However, before any of them could raise a wand, Neville finally hit Bellatrix with a spell, a banishing charm. Caught off guard, she tripped back, right into the suit of armor behind her. The sword impaling her through the stomach.

Bellatrix looked down at her stomach, looking momentarily stunned, as though she hadn't any idea at all of how the sword got there, and then she threw her head back and laughed. It was a horrible sight, her standing there laughing, her blood dripping to the floor. Ginny tried to look away but found that she couldn't.

Abruptly, Bellatrix stopped laughing. She glared at Neville, her eyes sharp and clear, the sanest Ginny had ever seen her, but somehow also the most deranged.

"Cruc-!"

"Stupefy!" Neville cried, not a moment too soon.

Bellatrix fell immediately to the ground, the suit of armor on top of her. Ron and Hermione tied her in ropes and Ginny pulled her wand from her limp hand. A few steps away, Harry and Neville were deep in conversation, their expressions stony and their voices low, and Ginny knew better than to try and eavesdrop.

"We've got to keep going," Harry said after a minute, addressing all of them.

"Alright," Neville replied, but the moment he tried to take a step he tripped over his own feet. Harry caught him and lowered him to the ground. Neville didn't try to regain his feet, in fact, he looked quite content to never leave that spot again, but he couldn't stay there and he obviously couldn't carry on with the rest of them.

"You three go on," Ginny offered, surprising herself, but knowing it was what she needed to do. "I'll take him back up to the common room. It'll be safe there. I'll find you lot afterwards."

"Alright," Harry replied, looking relieved. "But take the Marauder's Map; it'll help you find us."

"You need it more than I do," Ginny protested, holding it out to him.

"Ginny…please," Harry said, and Ginny was astounded to hear a note of fear in his voice.

Surprised, she looked up and saw in his eyes the same sad determination he'd worn at Dumbledore's funeral when he told her they couldn't be together, and suddenly Ginny understood. Whatever it was that they had a year ago; it was still there, waiting. But this wasn't the time, and that thing that Harry had to do, he wouldn't be able to if he was worried about Ginny.

"Oh," Ginny breathed. "All right."

She handed the map to Hermione, who memorized it and gave it back. Then they parted ways, Harry, Ron, and Hermione to their battle and Ginny to hers. Ginny heaved Neville to his feet and staggered away under his weight.

Three staircases later, Neville was heavy and growing heavier, and Ginny was tired but bound and determined to fulfill her promise to Harry. Keeping her wand ready, minding the map, and helping Neville stay on his feet simultaneously was difficult and more than once she considered passing the map to Neville, but, though he never complained, he seemed to be having enough trouble putting one foot in front of the other without her giving him another thing to worry about.

Ginny didn't doubt that most of his condition could be chalked up to the curses he suffered during his duel with Bellatrix, but she suspected that some of it could be blamed upon its abrupt end as well. Even she couldn't stop thinking about it: the gruesome image of Bellatrix throwing her head up and laughing when she saw that sword protruding from her stomach seemed to be burned into Ginny's eyes, and it took a great deal of concentration to remember to look past it to see what she was doing.

In spite of these difficulties, their trek back to Gryffindor was largely uneventful. Knowing she was in no position to put up a fight, Ginny would steer Neville into the nearest hiding place whenever the map indicated that anyone was getting too close and they'd stay there until the threat was gone. The tactic worked well until they were a few hallways away from Gryffindor Tower and the map indicated a large group of Death Eaters approaching and someone else in the only secret passageway close enough for them to reach in time. The figure was labeled Jacob Dawlish, a name Ginny vaguely remembered Tonks once listing among other Aurors she'd like to throttle. Still, Ginny knew that she and Neville were much less likely to come off dead in and encounter with Dawlish than they were in an encounter with five Death Eaters, so she pocketed the map, concocted a story, whispered to Neville to play along, hitched on a scared expression, and slipped into the secret passageway.

When they got inside, Dawlish was walking away from them and for a moment Ginny allowed herself to think that they might be able to get away without dealing with him at all, but then he turned around, apparently pacing, and caught sight of them. Ginny pulled a shocked expression a second too late, but Dawlish didn't seem to notice.

"What are you doing here?" he asked warily.

"We're students," Ginny replied breathlessly. It sounded like a stupid think to say, but growing up with six brothers had taught her how to play to people's sympathies by acting scared, and lesson one was conveying the most obvious information as though it was the meaning of life. "We were in the Great Hall when McGonagall said we needed to get to our houses, but there were already Death Eaters all over and we've been trying to make it back but it's so scary and now Neville's hurt."

Run on sentences were the second lesson in acting scared. Ginny noted with gratitude that Dawlish seemed convinced. She never much liked resorting to the third lesson: begging.

"I can escort the two of you to your house," Dawlish offered, looking chuffed to be given the opportunity to help a damsel in distress.

"Oh, thank you, sir!" Ginny exclaimed, channeling her former gratitude into her reaction to this new development. "Gryffindor isn't much further. We were almost there when a group of Death Eaters came along and we had to duck in here."

"Not a problem, Miss," Dawlish replied, moving past Ginny toward the hallway without offering to help support Neville, who was growing heavier still. Ginny followed, forcing herself not to roll her eyes.

They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady some ten minutes later. The trip took more than twice as long as usual, not because Ginny had to help Neville, but because Dawlish made a great show of sweeping them into secluded corners every few feet so he could scout the area ahead.

Feeling increasingly irritated with their would-be savior, Ginny opened her mouth to say the password, but he cut her off.

"Crup."

Ginny was on the verge of correcting him when the Fat Lady smiled and clicked open, so Ginny had to admit that, for this at least, it was fortunate they had Dawlish along. She noted the password change and helped Neville inside.

The Gryffindor Common Room hadn't changed much since she left. The older students were still guarding the portrait hole and fireplace: they'd all tensed when Ginny and Neville entered, but relaxed when they saw who it was. However, as Ginny was lowering Neville onto a chair, the defenders all gasped simultaneously and pointed their wands at the portrait hole. Ginny looked up to see Dawlish sliding into the Common Room.

"Wait," she yelped, stepping in the way of their aim. "He's an Auror."

They all lowered their wands at that, but Ginny noted with satisfaction that many still looked wary.

"Thanks for your help," Ginny said, turning to Dawlish. "I reckon we'll be alright now."

"Are you sure?" Dawlish replied, looking unconvinced.

"Yes," Ginny said emphatically, sensing where this was going and wanting none of it. "It looks like the others have everything under control here."

"Is this your entire house?" Dawlish asked, eyes narrowing.

"Oh," Ginny gasped, turning back to her housemates. Of course, she knew precisely where everyone else was, but Dawlish couldn't know that she'd already been to Gryffindor. She needn't have worried; out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Neville poking the nearest student with his foot.

"The younger students are up in the dormitories," the student volunteered after the moment it took him to decode Neville's signal. "We thought if the Death Eaters did find a way to come in here they'd have trouble getting up there. The stairway to the girls' tower is bewitched, you see."

"I image the other Aurors probably need your help more than we do," Ginny offered, then she saw it, a flicker of fear in Dawlish's eye, gone as fast as it came, but unmistakable. All at once Ginny knew why she'd found him pacing in a secret passageway and why he was so reluctant to leave now: he was just as afraid of this fight as she was pretending to be and he had no intention of returning to it.

"They're doing just fine," Dawlish replied predictably. "I think my talents would be put to better use if I stay here and watch over you kids."

As much as she knew she ought to sympathize with his situation, the thought of it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Harry was out there, risking his life to put an end to this war while this man, this Auror, was cowering with a group of students, saying he was protecting them so he could call it nobility later. Furthermore, his 'protection' would no doubt prevent her from helping Harry by returning the map to him and rejoining the fight.

"You're too kind," Ginny said through gritted teeth, false gratitude gone.

"Least I can do," Dawlish said cheerfully.

"Sure is," Ginny muttered.

Ginny had long since started sharing Tonks' opinion of Dawlish, but getting rid of him wasn't the sort of decision she could make on her own, so she joined her classmates behind the barricade to discuss the matter in hushed voices. Most had seen through his act, but they were still divided.

"He could be good in a pinch," Joel Thatcher, a fourth year, pointed out.

"You heard him," argued Elaine Cline, one of Ginny's roommates. "He only wants to stay here so he doesn't have to go back out there."

Even those who wanted Dawlish to stay seemed moved by this. Cowardice in the face of war was something that Gryffindors simply couldn't abide.

"Still, if Death Eaters get in here, he'll have a job arguing why he shouldn't fight," Joel said.

"Have you lot had any trouble so far?" Ginny asked in a whisper. Dawlish was looking in their direction.

"No," Joel replied at equal volume, "but that doesn't mean we won't."

"Why don't we move this furniture back," Dawlish said jovially, halting their debate. "We could get the younger students down here and sing a few campfire songs, take our minds off our troubles."

That cinched the matter. Between looking horrified, everyone, including Joel, communicated their permission for Ginny to get rid of the man, which she did happily, though perhaps with a bit more gusto that she'd intended. She'd only wanted to tie Dawlish up long enough for them to put him outside and force him to rejoin the fight, but instead he'd collapsed to the ground, unmoving. It seemed that Ginny had rather underestimated her annoyance with him and, she soon discovered, the number of people who wanted to have a hand in forcing him to go.

However, their exuberance had a price. Ginny couldn't help but cringe as she approached Dawlish's still form. She could count the effect of at least five different hexes in addition to her own, all of them quite nasty. He was bleeding freely from several wounds and seemed to be struggling to breathe. Ginny's limited repertoire of healing spells that she'd picked up from her mother and her few years on the Quidditch team were no match for these injuries: he'd have to go to the hospital wing.

Stifling a sigh, Ginny bent to patch his cuts as well as she cold, so he at least wouldn't leave a trail of blood as they went, then, after racking her memory for a moment, she cast a disillusionment charm on him and lifted him with a flick of her wand. She'd nearly reached the portrait hole when she realized she'd forgotten something and turned back to her classmates.

"Well?"

It seemed that nearly everyone wanted to come along, but, by general agreement, none of the fourth years volunteered, since they didn't know enough magic to battle Death Eaters if they didn't need to. They soon also realized that if all the older students went with Ginny, it wouldn't leave enough people to defend Gryffindor if it was attacked, so after several drawings of lots and spinnings of wands, five people joined Ginny at the portrait hole and they left.

It was a long way to the hospital wing, and they accomplished it mostly by using secret passageways. Ginny's time was occupied with looking after Dawlish and making sure that her companions didn't start any fights they didn't stand a decent chance of winning, which was generally limited to those in which they could surprise a group of Death Eaters they greatly outnumbered. Her classmates must have taken Harry's speech to heart, Ginny decided. They acquitted themselves masterfully, shelving their fear and facing situations that would have had a lesser group running scared, despite their limited experience with dueling.

They reached the Hospital Wing far sooner than Ginny ever could have alone but found the door locked, probably for the first time in the history of Hogwarts. Feeling let down, Ginny turned to the others for ideas, but they were already looking to her. Ginny sighed contemplatively. They simply couldn't keep dragging Dawlish around like this: he slowed them down, and the movement wasn't doing anything to help his injuries.

Supposing it was as good a solution as any, Ginny lowered Dawlish to the floor in front of the door, motioned her companions to hide around the nearest corner, knocked loudly, and ran to hide as well. She leaned around the corner to watch and make sure someone was inside to find Dawlish, and that, furthermore, that someone wasn't a Death Eater. She was relieved, therefore, when the door opened a crack, then wider to reveal Professor McGonagall, who lifted Dawlish with a flick of her wand and drew him inside.

They were all feeling much better now that they'd gotten rid of Dawlish, and they staged their next three battles with gusto, finally getting to take advantage of the Marauder's Map and travel in Harry's direction. They were looking for the fourth when Ginny turned a corner and ran straight into something invisible but quite solid that she'd missed on the map. She lifted her wand warily, but the invisible entity spoke first.

"Ginny!"

"Hermione?" Ginny responded, things clicking into place.

"Death Eaters!"

Ginny looked up and saw them, at least seven angry looking wizards in black robes, a much larger force than they'd ever faced before, but they had no place to hide and no time to waste.

"Get ready!" Ginny said to her companions, and they assembled just around the corner in an attempt to retain any surprise they could.

A moment later, Ginny cast a stunning spell at the advancing Death Eaters and five others joined hers, but only three Death Eaters fell.

A fierce battle ensued. Any advantage the students gained with their superior numbers was more than undone by the Death Eater's repertoires of powerful spells, and it was soon doubtful that the students would be able to hold off their assailants long enough for someone to think of a place to hide. Then something strange happened.

Ginny, who'd been getting by on a few of her favorite hexes and luck, suddenly saw through the battle, almost like the pictures in a Muggle book her Dad brought home once: at first she'd look at it and see a jumble of nothing, then unfocus her eyes and see a shape inside. All of a sudden the battle made sense. She knew when to duck and when to dodge and when a shield charm would suffice, and which Death Eater was distracted enough to land a spell on. It was something like the previous year during the Battle of the Tower, only this time there was no lucky potion guiding her.

Soon the battle was over and the clarity left, but Ginny knew that it would return next time she needed it. Her companions were staring at her in amazement, but she ignored them, looking for Hermione, who, she'd noticed, hadn't joined the battle.

"Hermione? Where'd you go?" Ginny called, realizing that she must not have taken off the invisibility cloak.

"Over here," came the reply from around the corner and a short distance away, sounding more shaken than Ginny could ever remember hearing Hermione.

Ginny felt along the wall until her arm connected with something solid: Hermione's shoulder.

"We took care of those Death Eaters for you," Ginny said, directing her gaze and where she knew Hermione's eyes should be, but wishing she'd just take off the cloak.

"That's good."

"So you can take off that cloak now," Ginny prompted.

For a moment nothing happened, as though Hermione had forgotten that she had the cloak on at all, and then she slowly came into view.

"Are you alright?" Ginny asked, observing Hermione's swelling nose and cut forehead and attempting to mask her surprise but not her concern with little success.

"It's nothing," Hermione said dismissively. "I need to get back to Harry."

"So do I," Ginny replied. "We can all go together."

"That's good," Hermione said, not meeting Ginny's eyes.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Ginny asked, reaching for Hermione's arm.

"I'm fine," Hermione said shortly, shying away from Ginny's touch.

"Okay," Ginny sighed disbelievingly, "I'll tell the others. Have a look at the map and see if you can figure out where Harry is."

Ginny passed Hermione the map then turned the corner to speak with her companions, only to find them already in discussion with a house-elf.

"What's going on?" Ginny asked when no one volunteered any information.

"He's come to take us out of Hogwarts," Elaine replied, a look of pure relief crossing her face. "The house-elves are helping all the students."

"You lot can go if you want," Ginny sighed. "Hermione and I are going to find Harry."

"Apologies Miss," the house-elf said with a bow, "but Mistress McGonagall is ordering us to take all students out of Hogwarts. I must not be disobeying her orders."

If she'd been given enough time to think, Ginny was certain that she could have reasoned the house-elf into letting her and Hermione stay, but she never got the chance, for at that moment Hermione came bursting around the corner.

"Ginny, we have to go now! This way."

Ginny turned to follow her, but the house-elf's protests were difficult to ignore, for a moment later they'd both been frozen in their tracks.

"You must all be coming with me."

"You don't understand," Hermione cried, unfreezing herself and then Ginny wandlessly. "We have to stay, it's important."

"Mistress McGonagall's orders were very specific."

"We'll tell her you tried," Hermione pleaded, growing desperate. "We'll make sure you don't get punished."

"We must be going," the house-elf said simply, and with a snap of his fingers he lifted Hermione a short distance off the ground and started off down the hallway and into a secret passageway, keeping a wary eye on Ginny as well. However, Ginny's interest was no longer in finding Harry, for the moment that Hermione's feet left the floor an expression of pure terror that Ginny had not seen matched that entire battle came over Hermione. It looked like she was desperately trying to stay calm, but after a few moments of that she started flailing around desperately and grabbing at Ginny, the closest person, nearly pulling Ginny's robes off in her attempts to reach the floor.

"Let her down," Ginny shouted up to the house-elf. She didn't know how Hermione had developed such a dramatic fear of heights, but from the looks of things she'd do something drastic if she didn't return to the floor soon.

"Eddy must make sure that all the students are safely out of the school," the house-elf said, his voice floating back to her from the head of the line.

"She won't try anything," Ginny promised. Hermione was gripping her hands so tightly it was painful, preventing her from reaching her wand to try and counter the spell herself. "Please, just let her down."

There was a pause, then a snap from the head of the line and Hermione was released, stumbling to the ground as her knees gave out. Quickly, Ginny pulled her friend to her feet and helped her to carry on so the house-elf wouldn't get the idea that they were trying to escape again.

Ginny made several queries about why Hermione had found being levitated so upsetting, but she refused to even answer questions about her wrist, which she'd landed on somewhat awkwardly during the fall. She didn't think to ask why Hermione had been so bent of leaving the house-elf in the first place until they'd arrived in Saint Mungo's and were milling around a large room with the rest of the students.

Hermione fixed Ginny with her first proper look since being so abruptly parted from the ground earlier and produced the Marauder's Map immediately. It didn't take her long at all to find and point out the distressing information she'd found earlier: two dots labeled Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were in separate rooms and holding very still. Another dot, Tom Riddle, was prowling around the same room that Harry was in.

Never before had Ginny felt so useless. There she was, safe in Saint Mungo's, the girl locked in her tower while her hero was in terrible danger, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Hermione was in a similar state. She even waved away a Healer when he came to mend her nose and forehead.

They only looked away from the map when McGonagall arrived, and it took all of their restraint to keep themselves from interrupting while Susan Bones and Terry Boot made their report.

"We have to go back for them!" Hermione exclaimed as soon as Susan and Terry were out of the way. Fortunately, the two Heads had already explained that 'they' were Harry and Ron.

"They could be hurt!" Ginny added, joining her.

"We never should have left them in the first place!"

"And now we're not allowed to leave this room!"

"Stop!" McGonagall replied, cutting them off. "I want to see them back and safe as much as you do, but returning to Hogwarts is impossible at the moment, and if they chose to remain behind while the rest of the students were being evacuated then that is their business."

"You don't understand!" Hermione maintained.

"We can't just-"

"Stop," McGonagall commanded again. "What, exactly, don't I understand, Miss Granger?"

"Do you remember the stuff they wrote in the _Prophet_ last year about Harry being the Chosen One?" Hermione said, after taking a moment to consider her phrasing.

"Utter rubbish," McGonagall replied.

"All true," Hermione countered, which was news to Ginny, but, knowing Harry as she did, not entirely unexpected. "Professor Trelawney made a prediction about it before Harry was even born."

McGonagall sniffed, but Ginny knew that she had almost laughed. She was well aware of McGonagall's disdain for divination, but to see it expressed in this situation was very frustrating. What Hermione was trying to explain was very important.

"I know most of what she says is worthless," Hermione said, seeming to share Ginny's opinion, "but that prediction was the real thing."

"What are you saying, exactly?" McGonagall pressed.

"Harry is the only person who can kill Voldemort, and he went into Hogwarts determined to do it," Hermione explained. "And Ron will stand by him as long as he can. I meant to also, but…things happened."

That was as close as Hermione had gotten so far to explaining how she'd gotten separated from Harry and Ron. Ginny glanced at her, hoping for more.

"It's alright, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Then you'll send someone to rescue them?" Ginny asked hopefully.

McGonagall's face fell, and Ginny knew what her answer was going to be.

"Harry and Ron are on their own," she said carefully. "We don't have enough people to rescue them right now, and even if we did, we couldn't return to Hogwarts, the spells and wards that Professor Dumbledore placed on the school assure that. And even if we did release the wards, we'd only be letting more Death Eaters inside. There's simply nothing we can do right now."

"They'll be alright," Hermione said, more to herself than anyone. "Harry's made it out of tougher situations than this no problem."

Unable to help herself, Ginny glared at her. She couldn't even imagine a more dangerous situation than this. Hermione knew what was on the map as well as Ginny; Harry and Ron were in no position to save themselves. She opened her mouth to say so, but suddenly found she couldn't do it. That piece of reassurance, small and false as it was, was all they had to believe in, and Ginny couldn't bring herself to destroy it.

"We just have to wait," Ginny said instead.e

There really was nothing they could do.

Defeated, Ginny and Hermione tucked themselves into a corner to watch the map. They sat transfixed by their two dots, scarcely blinking, only breathing when they realized they'd been forgetting to. They watched those two unmoving dots for what felt like hours, and they watched then the dots stirred.


	9. The Story of the Spy

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.

**Chapter 9: The Story of the Spy**

Severus Snape hadn't been there long, only a few days, not long enough to work up the time or desire to clear away the cobwebs and barely long enough to trouble with stocking the cabinets with any respectable amount of food. Less than two weeks ago, the latest of his and Draco's year long list of refuges had been discovered, forcing them to run once more. The Aurors were expending so many resources tracking the two criminals that it was a wonder they were holding their ground in the war as a whole.

After two days on the road, Snape and Draco had finally agreed upon a theory they'd been toying with for months: that by staying together they were creating more danger than protection for themselves, and they'd decided to part ways. Snape had taken up resistance in this shack, at Bellatrix's insistence, and Draco had gone to stay with his Aunt Andromeda, at Narcissa's suggestion.

Snape had lit a fire in the fireplace, not because it was cold, indeed it was warmer that afternoon than it had been in months, but because the struggle to keep the fire from escaping the broken hearth and incinerating the dusty and wooden shack was the greatest test of his mind he'd been able to discover there. Ordinarily in times such as this he'd content himself with creating some new and difficult potion, but he'd been forced to leave his supplies at his last place of residence and had only been able to risk Knockturn Alley long enough to replenish a fraction of them.

Snape had just stamped out a loose ember when there was a sharp rap at the door. With a sigh, he extinguished the fire and stood, composing his features and his mind as he stepped to the door. There were few people who knew where to find him and even fewer who would have any reason to want to, so he was not surprised to find Bellatrix waiting outside.

"Good afternoon, Severus, may I come in?"

"Would you like anything to drink?" Snape offered as Bellatrix stepped inside and made immediately for his lamentable sitting room.

"No, thank you," she replied, taking a seat. "I don't intend to stay long."

"As you wish," Snape replied as he sat as well. Her mind was as closed as his, whatever her business was, she didn't want him to guess it. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I was simply hoping to check up on my nephew."

Snape froze, concern and fear coursing through him. Concern for Draco, and fear for himself. Bellatrix should have already been aware that he and Draco had parted ways. He mastered himself with difficulty.

"I'm afraid Draco isn't here," Snape replied, with the most dismissive air he could muster.

"I see," Bellatrix said with a look of forced disappointment. "That is unfortunate. Cissy's been very concerned about him, but couldn't come herself without risking discovery, so she asked me to visit in her stead."

"I understand," Snape replied. "But I can assure you that Draco is in very excellent care."

"Andromeda's perhaps?"

Snape paused. It was a possibility that he had supposed but never truly anticipated: that Bellatrix would know her sister, the one she considered a blood traitor, well enough to suppose that she might agree to shelter Draco. But if Bellatrix knew that Draco was with Andromeda, then there was only one remaining reason why she would have come to call.

"I must admit I was surprised to see you," Snape returned. He knew that a change of subject would not be enough to deter her, but the situation had suddenly grown much more dangerous for him, and it was the best he could do for the moment.

"Oh?" Bellatrix replied airily.

"Yes," Snape said, guessing at last where this was headed. "I haven't heard from any fellow Death Eaters in weeks. In fact, many said that you'd all gone to Albania to regroup."

"Is that so?" Bellatrix asked, trying to sound as though she knew of nothing of the sort.

"Yes."

"That's strange," Bellatrix replied. "I can't imagine why everyone would lie about something like that to a loyal Death Eater like you, unless…oh, Severus, how could you?"

And Snape knew, at last, precisely why she had come.

"Bella, you know I-"

That had been a mistake. Bellatrix's refined air disappeared almost immediately.

"How could you ever think you could fool the Dark Lord," she yelled. "You nearly convinced me the night you made the unbreakable vow with my sister, but not him, never him."

"Where are the Death Eaters, if they're not in Albania?" Snape demanded, growing worried.

"Yes, that would interest you," Bellatrix said with a horrible laugh. "They are currently gathering to learn the Dark Lord's plan. I must be leaving soon myself. You see, in less than an hour we are going to attack Hogwarts."

A sensation Snape had never before experience overcame him, settling finally in his gut. It took him a moment to realize that it must be panic, something he'd felt in others, but never in himself.

"More lies," be bluffed. "Hogwarts is too well protected."

"It used to be, but now that the old fool Dumbledore is gone," Bellatrix replied, and Snape, already distracted by his panic, found himself unable to control his anger as well. "The wards as they stood were barely sufficient to repel us, and today they are even weaker."

Snape stood, but Bellatrix blocked his way to the door.

"Why did you tell me all that?" Snape asked, knowing the answer.

Faster than Snape could react, Bellatrix waved her wand, and he found himself lying on the ground, frozen and disarmed.

"Because I intended to ensure that you could never leave this place. Crucio."

Snape had been the recipient of the Cruciatus Curse many times before, but never before had he experienced it without a single outlet for his pain. He couldn't scream, he couldn't move, and he was quite certain that if it didn't let up soon he would surely be driven insane.

But let up it did, and though Snape couldn't see Bellatrix, he could sense that she was disappointed by his reaction.

The next thing he heard was the squeak of rusty hinges as she opened the door.

"No need to get up, I'll see myself out. Good night, Severus."

So there he was, wandless, frozen, alone, and with a desperate need to get to Hogwarts as quickly as possible. Bellatrix had probably thought herself clever. Snape did not doubt that the Dark Lord had ordered his death, Bellatrix left him this way because she considered it a worse fate: to be trapped and forced to watch worst case scenarios play out in his head, to lie frozen until the Ministry finally caught up with him. She was confident that he would be unable to escape on his own, and she thought him the fool. Snape would have laughed if he'd been able to move.

The ability to perform wandless magic was rare among trained wizards, but far from unheard of. Lacking the raw emotion that often characterized the magic of children, wandless magic in adults was usually limited to the especially powerful. Snape's talents had never been in raw power, but in a disciplined mind, which had always served him well, if not better than anyone's magical ability alone. With a deep breath and a thought, Snape freed himself. He spent a moment in search of his wand, but Bellatrix must have taken it with her, so he resigned himself to one more inconvenience in this conflict and Apparated to Hogsmeade.

Scarcely even pausing to look around, Snape hurried down the path to Hogwarts. It was largely as Bellatrix had said: the wards had been lowered to allow the students to visit Hogsmeade and he encountered little resistance on his way to the castle. Even inside he had few difficulties: there were a few Aurors and Order members on patrol, but Snape knew Hogwarts better than he knew his childhood home and avoided them easily. By the time he reached the gargoyle guarding the headmistress's office there was no doubt in his mind that these people were about to be caught woefully off guard unless he found a way to get McGonagall to believe his warning, and soon.

Snape no longer knew the password to the head's office, but that hardly made a difference: he simply placed a hand on the gargoyle's hand and it stepped aside. He bounded up the stairs and entered McGonagall's office without bothering to knock. She was standing at the window, staring out across the grounds, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen at her school.

"Minerva."

McGonagall spun around, pulling out her wand.

"Severus," she replied, taking aim, though clearly caught off guard by the fact that he had no wand himself.

"Good afternoon," Snape said. "Or is it evening? In either case it won't remain pleasant for much longer."

"Come to kill me too, Severus?"

Snape flinched at the hatred and fear in his former colleague's voice then mastered himself again.

"Not me."

"What?" McGonagall stuttered at his unexpected response. "How did you get in here?"

"I'm not the one you ought to be worried about."

She had to understand, and she had to understand quickly, but she still seemed so convinced that he'd returned to murder her.

"Listen to him, Minerva," said an unexpected voice.

Snape whirled around and found Dumbledore's portrait almost immediately, a sharp pang in his chest. The former headmaster was watching them closely over his steepled fingers. Snape took much longer in turning back to McGonagall. Even now, Dumbledore was still defending him.

"Who should I be worried about?" McGonagall pressed, looking increasingly convinced.

"The Death Eaters who are currently gaining entrance to this castle by every passage they know," Snape replied.

"Both the Aurors and the Order have evidence that You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters are in Albania," McGonagall breathed.

"And who do you suppose gave them that impression, left the clues that led them to that conclusion?" Snape pressed.

"You lied to us," McGonagall said angrily, and Snape's attention returned to the fact that her wand was still pointed at him.

"I told the truth as I knew it," Snape explained. "The Dark Lord was in Albania."

Convulsively, McGonagall raised her free hand to scratch behind her ear and Snape knew what that meant. Dumbledore had once mentioned using a similar spell to warn him when unfriendly forces were crossing the wards around Hogwarts.

"It seems you have a fight on your hands," Snape pointed out.

"And whose side will you be on?" McGonagall demanded, pointing her wand at herself to remove the warning spell.

Snape didn't bother responding, she wouldn't believe him anyway. He simply turned and left.

As he descended the stairs, he heard McGonagall's amplified warning, "Students, report to your houses at once. House guards seal yourselves in ten minutes. Teachers to your positions. This is very real."

As Snape hurried on his way, he could still heard her words echoing around the castle, and when they died out there, they continued in his head.

Proficient though he was in wandless magic, it was really no substitute for a wand in a duel, which made his place in a castle where few people on either side of the fight trusted him quite perilous. It seemed a disgustingly Gryffindor philosophy, but he couldn't simply leave for fear of his own safety, so after considering several possibilities of where he could be most useful, he finally settled on checking on the students in Slytherin, quite confident that he would be the only one to do so.

Never let it be said that Slytherins do not look out for each other, even if it is often because they don't receive the benefit of trust from the other houses. Recently, it seemed that most people considered being labeled cunning and ambitious by the Sorting Hat equivalent to being branded with the Dark Mark, an unfortunate oversimplification. During his tenure as professor, students had always been quick to complain that Snape favored his own house, always blind to the fact that the other heads weren't so fair minded either, often reflecting a bias against Slytherins in their distribution of house points and grades.

Snape soon reached the entrance to Slytherin House and placed a hand on the otherwise unimpressive stretch of wall, once again taking advantage of the special arrangement Dumbledore allowed him to make should these exact events come to pass. The wall slid obligingly sideways under his touch and Snape stepped inside.

There were few younger students in sight, but several of the older ones had arranged themselves in the chairs around the fire. Most of them were fiddling with their wands or twirling them in a would-be idle way that was betrayed when every single wand righted itself in its owner's palm almost immediately after the sound of Snape's footsteps reached them. Most of the wands lowered when they turned and saw him, but the twirling did not resume. Snape was pleased: they would not have been Slytherins if they'd let their guards down at such a juncture.

Still, Snape knew he would have to tread carefully. These students might be more inclined to trust him than the rest of the school, but they were not Gryffindors, he could not count on cool heads. He didn't need to be a Legilimens to sense the borderline panic in the room.

Addressing himself to Pansy Parkinson, who, judging by her position of self declared authority and privilege in front of the fire, was still a Prefect, Snape asked, "Are all the students accounted for?"

"Of course," she replied haughtily, leaving the impression that her response would have been the same even if half the students in her house were in parts unknown, but a brief perusal of her mind revealed that she was telling the truth.

Pansy scowled, apparently having learned enough of Occlumency to recognize the intrusion, but said nothing on the subject. Instead she asked, "Is it Death Eaters? Are they here? And the Dark Lord?"

He'd been too long in isolation, Snape concluded as he was reduced to masking his disapproval of hearing the Dark Lord referred to as thus, and with such relish by a student, by turning to watch a third year's well-timed dash toward the dormitories.

When he'd once again mastered his features, Snape turned back to the students by the fire and responded, "Yes, there are Death Eaters in Hogwarts, and if the Dark Lord has not arrived yet then I have no doubt that he soon will."

Snape was once again surprised by the reactions of his former pupils, all of whom seemed interested by this news, even those he'd never known to show any inclination toward joining the conflict on either side. Banking on a guess, he added, "Draco is not among them."

His suspicions were confirmed almost immediately by the looks of disappointment on everyone's faces, even the younger students who'd begun to spill out of the hallway leading to the dormitories. Though Draco had never said it aloud during their time together over the past year, Snape sensed that his young charge knew he was a figure of importance among his fellow Slytherins, and that the impression was not entirely narcissistic. Snape had often caught Draco staring into space and gleaned that he was almost as concerned about his classmates as he had been about his family during his sixth year. However, Snape also knew that these Slytherins had been hoping to see a Draco who no longer existed, the one who thought himself prince of Slytherin, who would gladly best Potter in a match of wits, who looked like he would one day become a leader among the Death Eaters, but that had been a long time ago in the life of Draco Malfoy.

"Draco has concluded that he has no place in this conflict," Snape explained, realizing that some of the students had begun drawing rather dire conclusions in his silence. "Neither do you, as Professor Slughorn-"

"We haven't seen him," one of the younger students interrupted before being shushed by those surrounding him.

Snape sniffed, unsurprised. He didn't doubt either that any position Slughorn had been assigned to defend was currently abandoned. It was doubtful that the old fogy's concerns even extended as far as his precious Slug Club: if he wasn't barricaded in his office then Slughorn had almost certainly left the country by now. Still, Snape knew that this was not the time to criticize his replacement, so he rephrased and continued, "Tonight the Dark Lord's interest lies in Gryffindor, not Slytherin. If you remain here you will be safe, venture outside and you will receive no trust from either side."

"What about you, Professor?" Theodore Nott asked. "Don't both sides feel the same about you?"

Snape was so surprised by the fact that the students still referred to him as Professor and that McGonagall's security measures had somehow neglected to prevent Nott from corresponding with his father, that he failed to respond before several echoing suggestions that he remain there were voiced, accompanied by a sudden and dramatic reduction in the level of fear in the room.

"Unlike you, this conflict does concern me," Snape replied, holding up his hands for silence and nearly forgetting to stop himself before he added that it was partially his fault that all of this was happening at all. "Furthermore, I concern the others in this conflict. Unless I make my presence known out there, one side or the other will come in here, looking for me."

No one argued, they'd already put their cunning minds to the task and drawn the same conclusion.

"Good," Snape finished, preparing to leave. "Eventually someone will come to fetch you. Do not leave before then."

Snape turned and made for the exit. He heard the students behind him returning to their former positions but also felt their old fear rushing back in and was suddenly overcome by something he was not terribly accustomed to: concern. At the moment, he was the closest thing these students had to a mentor, to a protector, maybe even, Merlin help them, to a father, and he was about to abandon them, just like Slughorn had. Snape nearly turned back, nearly promised that he'd be the one to tell them when it was safe to leave, or said that he'd reconsidered and might not be so dangerous for him to stay after all, or offer them some assurance or comfort, but the words escaped him and he continued toward the exit, his inner struggle only making itself manifest in a single missed step.

By the time he'd reached the hallway and the door to Slytherin House had closed behind him, Snape had chosen his next destination. He had no desire for a battle such as this to occur again and he knew enough of the prophecy to know there was only one person who could ensure that. So, though he had no real desire to encounter the brat, and though he knew the feeling was mutual, Snape resolved to find Harry Potter and force him into a battle with the Dark Lord.

Of course, Snape knew enough of Potter's nature to realize that finding him would be no easy task. It was a near certainty that he would not be hiding in his tower like he was supposed to, but also that he would, as usual, show no tact at all and risk his skin and the world's fate by doing battle with every Death Eater he came across.

Scowling at the thought alone, Snape hurried up the stairs to begin his search. Some huge battle must have taken place in the Entrance Hall since he'd last passed through: it stood crumbling and almost unrecognizable, but Snape didn't stop to investigate. However, his progress slowed dramatically once he'd picked his way up the ruined stairs because he was forced to hide from a number of passing groups from both sides. Two carefully chosen staircases later, Snape finally had the chance to present himself to a pair of Death Eaters he could have easily overpowered if need be, even though he was still wandless, and discovered that news of his true loyalties hadn't been given to all the Death Eaters, probably only to those in the Dark Lord's inner circle.

Now able to move much more quickly, Snape hurried around a corner and nearly collided with Remus Lupin. Lupin's expression melted from determination to shock to anger in the space of a few seconds and he leapt away, raising his wand, though he seemed reluctant to use it for Snape had no wand to raise. Ordinarily Snape would have thought this show of sportsmanship annoying, but he had to admit it was useful in this case.

"You're a better man than me, Lupin," Snape said, so quietly he could hardly hear himself, though Lupin seemed to gather his meaning.

"Still, I've lost four friends and you've lost four enemies," he replied scathingly. "If this was a competition I'd say you were winning."

"Not all of them were my enemies."

Lupin's shock was returning, his mouth forming the beginning of too many different questions for him to select one. Snape allowed him only a few moments of this, he had important business elsewhere.

"Where is Potter?" Snape asked.

"What's your interest in him?" Lupin demanded immediately, aiming his wand directly at Snape's heart.

"I suppose you've noticed that he tends to behave recklessly in situations like this," Snape replied, watching Lupin's resolve falter. "I intend to make sure that he lives long enough to encounter the Dark Lord."

"I see," Lupin said, finally seeming to make up his mind. "You want to present Harry to your master yourself."

"I wand the Dark Lord to be defeated," Snape sighed, supposing that he could have chosen his phrasing better.

He watched Lupin carefully, gauging his reaction, and found that he didn't look nearly as surprised as he should have.

"Professor Dumbledore told you the prophecy," Snape inferred.

"No," Lupin replied, finally lowering his wand. "Harry did."

"Ah," Snape responded.

"Harry won't listen to you," Lupin pointed out.

"I wasn't expecting him to," Snape replied.

"Good luck to you," Lupin said, stepping around him to go.

"Wait," Snape called against his better judgment, but curiosity had gotten the best of him. "How do you know I'm not still loyal to the Dark Lord?"

Lupin turned back, looking a bit somber.

"Because I've spoken with Harry and Nymphadora Tonks. Comparing their stories it seems that Draco Malfoy is a changed person, and that's after a year in hiding with you. I have also observed that Draco is not as adept at deception as you."

"I see," Snape replied thoughtfully.

"Sorry I never tried to stop them," Lupin said suddenly, as though he'd been working up the nerve to say just that throughout their entire conversation. "James and Sirius, I mean."

Snape grew immediately angry that the topic had been brought up, then discovered that he had no venom left for it.

"There were several things I could have done to change the situation as well," he admitted finally.

"Bigger things are going on right now," Lupin replied, "but, maybe, when this is over, we should talk."

"Very well," Snape said, not admitting that he felt a leap of interest at the suggestion. "Good luck to you."

The two men parted ways. Snape climbed another staircase, turned two corners, and happened upon what was probably the most grisly and most gratifying thing he'd ever seen. Bellatrix Lestrange was lying facedown in a pool of blood, pinned beneath a suite of armor. Smirking, he kicked the suite of armor over, only to discover that its sword had impaled the Death Eater through the stomach. She was still alive, but unconscious and bound hand and foot, so Snape searched her pockets until he found his wand. Standing, he cleaned Bellatrix's blood off his wand, and then gave it a flick, finishing what the suit of armor had started.

Turning, Snape took a few running steps back the way he'd come. No Auror would use such a graceless way of putting an end to Bellatrix, it had to be Potter. However, before he'd made it very far, he felt a powerful presence against his mind: the Dark Lord was close by and in all likelihood Potter was much nearer his foe than he realized.

Suppressing his usual tendency to close his mind entirely, Snape instead opened it further, hoping to draw the Dark Lord's attention away from Potter by letting slip that Bellatrix hadn't finished him, Snape, off earlier. Snape chose a different staircase, hoping that Potter had selected the one that was closer to Bellatrix.

Only part of his attention was on his route, the rest was devoted to keeping the Dark Lord's prying influence from investigating any further, but he soon had to sacrifice some of that, because a short distance from the bottom of the staircase, he spotted a liar in a group of Death Eaters who were making their way down the hallway in front of him. Snape jogged a few steps to catch up, then grabbed her arm and snatched her out of the back of the line.

Predictably, she stumbled as she was pulled off balance and did not regain her footing until they were inside a nearby classroom.

"Nymphadora," Snape said, surveying the dark hair and sunken eyes that made her look much more like a relative of Bellatrix Lestrange than usual.

"What do you want, traitor?" she spat, wrenching her arm out of his grasp and raising her wand.

"To warn you," Snape replied, unperturbed by her threat. "You need to get far away from here as quickly as you can."

"Why should I do that?" Tonks demanded. "Do you Death Eaters have some secret trap back here?"

"The Dark Lord is approaching," Snape said, watching the breath catch in Tonks' throat. "Your disguise might have convinced those you were traveling with, but you did not fool me and you will not fool him."

"How do you know he's coming?" Tonks asked sharply.

"I am drawing the Dark Lord here," Snape replied. "I believe Potter was about to happen upon the Dark Lord unprepared. I hope to give Potter enough time to think of a plan so he can finish this."

"But, why are you warning me?" Tonks stammered.

"Use your brain," Snape exclaimed. "The Dark Lord would not be interested in me if he thought me trustworthy and I would not be helping Potter if I wanted the Dark Lord to succeed."

"But, Dumbledore…"

"There's no time to explain," Snape said, scratching at his left forearm, which had begun to throb.

"Then be quick," Tonks replied stubbornly.

"The Dark Lord's orders for Draco forced his hand," Snape sighed, "as did my Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa. He thought my position and Draco's life were more important than his own, so he asked me to do it, ordered me to, and, in the end, begged me to. I had no choice. Are you happy?"

"No," Tonks replied, but she seemed to accept his explanation and even turned to go.

"Wait."

"I thought you wanted me to get out of here," Tonks shot back.

"Then be quick," Snape said. "How's Draco?"

Curiosity about his former charge had been burning at him since Lupin had mentioned him during their brief encounter.

"What?" Tonks asked.

"I know you remain in contact with your mother," Snape replied before realizing that her confusion was because of his concern and not because she was pretending not to know why he was asking her.

"He's fine," Tonks replied. "He and my Dad didn't get along so well until they realized they were both cheering for the same side during the Wasps Cannons game last week. Last I heard my Mum was teaching him how to cook. Apparently he's got something of a knack for it; my Mum seemed excited. I was a bit of a hopeless case."

"Thanks," Snape said with genuine gratitude, but the pain in his tattoo was growing unbearable so he motioned for Tonks to go and departed in the opposite direction.

He'd only made it two hallways before the Dark Lord discovered him.

"Severus Snape."

"Master," Snape replied, turning to face him and closing his mind.

"I was not expecting to see you here," the Dark Lord continued idly, "to risk Hogwarts after you made so many enemies here."

"I knew you would need as much help as possible to take the castle," Snape improvised, unsure of what the Dark Lord was playing at, but it was unwise to question his motives.

"Loyalty for loyalty's sake," the Dark Lord laughed icily, "an uncommon trait among my followers, I could get used to it, but not from you."

"Master?" Snape asked, but he knew there was no use, the Dark Lord had gotten his fun and the rest of Snape's life could now be measured in seconds.

"You have betrayed me," Voldemort hissed.

Even for those with nothing to hide, the one key to surviving an encounter with the Dark Lord was to allow him to dictate when they held eye contact and when they did not, but something happened then that gave Snape no choice but to look away. Potter's timing, while always abysmal, chose that moment to be particularly inconvenient. Snape could not see him, but Potter was nearby, angry, afraid, and practically inviting the Dark Lord entrance to his mind. Fortunately, the Dark Lord, so accustomed to keeping the link between them closed, seemed not to have noticed, but it was only a matter of time. It was now all that Snape could do to keep the Dark Lord's entire attention focused on him.

"No master," Snape maintained, trying to mask his distraction.

"Do not think I cannot tell you are lying," the Dark Lord replied. "It does not matter how accomplished you think you are at Occlumens, the Dark Lord always knows."

"I assure you, Master," Snape said. He knew that his fate had been sealed since the moment that he and the Dark Lord sensed each other, but the Dark Lord also was not as accomplished at Legilimens as he thought, and that was all that mattered now.

"And yet you persist in feeding me lies," the Dark Lord continued. "I know your loyalty has been to Dumbledore since before my powers broke at the hands of that Potter. I know you have been passing information to the Order of the Phoenix for the past three years while still maintaining the illusion of servility to me. But I have been feeding you lies as well."

Snape blinked, his mystery finally solved.

"Don't look so surprised," the Dark Lord said with a hint of cold laughter. "Why shouldn't I have pressed my advantage? You have been giving false information to the Order all this time. Why else would everyone assure you that we were staying in Albania if we were about to attack here?"

"You will not succeed, the Order will stop you," Snape replied, the game finally up.

"I doubt it," the Dark Lord said. "But I suppose I must wait and see. You, however, will not be given that pleasure. Your usefulness has run out, and you will now greet the same fate that meets all who betray me. Avada Kedavra!"

Snape did not move or try to fight it, he knew it would be no use, but, just before the green light met him, he felt a sudden surge of understanding and then of determination from not so far away, from where Harry Potter was listening.


	10. The Story of the Aristocrat

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.

**Chapter 10: The Story of the Aristocrat**

"Lucius Malfoy," Bellatrix Lestrange said, fixing him with her cruel gaze and terrible smile and leaving no doubt that whatever was about to follow would be unpleasant for him, but he was spared finding out for the moment because Bellatrix continued along a short list of names.

When those she'd beckoned had gathered, all looking wary, Bellatrix began giving her instructions.

"The Dark Lord has a special task for you. He wishes to ensure that no one can enter Hogwarts once his Death Eaters are inside."

Lucius shifted his gaze to those who'd gathered with him, counting, and came up short. Hogwarts' grounds were wide and vast; there was simply no way to defend them with only six people. Their task was impossible.

"Therefore," Bellatrix said with another of her twisted smiles, and Lucius knew that she'd purposefully paused just long enough for them to draw that conclusion, "the Dark Lord has arranged for a Chimera to be placed in the mountains several miles from Hogwarts."

Lucius blinked. A Chimera? Surely not. Bellatrix's smile widened.

"You will travel there and bring it through the Forbidden Forest and to the grounds."

They all waited silently, hoping to catch Bellatrix in a joke, but she was deadly serious. Lucius toyed momentarily with the idea of trying to talk his way out of this, but soon concluded that there was nothing he could gain by arguing and much he could lose. The others seemed to have reached similar decisions.

"Leave the Chimera on the grounds," Bellatrix continued. "Once you're inside you'll be free to battle any opposition you like, but if you encounter Potter, he is to be brought to the Dark Lord. You may go."

Nodding morosely, Lucius turned to leave with the others, but Bellatrix caught his arm and pulled him back. He tried to control the shaking limb, but it was difficult and she didn't let go.

"I suppose news of your son's victory last year has reached you, even in Azkaban," Bellatrix said, an odd but unreadable note in her voice.

"Of course," Lucius replied. "He did his family proud."

"And I suppose also that you are aware of just how he achieved that victory," Bellatrix prompted, lips curling.

"He repaired a set of vanishing cabinets and used them to allow Death Eaters access to Hogwarts," Lucius replied.

"Both vanishing cabinets are now utterly destroyed," Bellatrix said dismissively, "what interests the Dark Lord is the room where Draco carried out this feat."

"The Room of Requirement," Lucius replied, exhausting his limited knowledge about the place.

"Take anyone you deem worthy," Bellatrix continued. "You will go to the room and use it to change the wards around Hogwarts so that our opposition is repelled and we are not."

She turned to go, but after a moment's hesitation Lucius called her back. She returned, smirking.

"You don't know the location of the Room of Requirement."

"No," Lucius admitted.

"It is on the seventh floor, opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy," she explained patronizingly. "Walk past the stretch of wall three times, thinking of what you require."

"Thank you," Lucius replied.

"Have you realized yet what else you do not know?" Bellatrix added, smirk creeping into an eerie smile.

"No," Lucius said again, knowing that his sister-in-law was enjoying every minute of this, the chance to lord over him some of the power he'd wielded during their time in the Department of Mysteries.

"The location of the Chimera," Bellatrix replied, grabbing his wrist and slapping a piece of parchment into his palm before turning to leave once again.

As he made to rejoin his group of unlucky Death Eaters, Lucius unrolled the parchment and discovered a roughly drawn map of the area surrounding Hogwarts with a wide black X indicating where the Chimera had been left.

"We'll arrive here," Lucius said, pointing to a location a short distance from the X then shoving the map into the nearest person's hands, turning, and Disapparating without allowing them time to argue.

He appeared on a wide grassy slope with the tree line of the Forbidden Forest a few hundred meters further down the mountain and, fortunately, no Chimera in sight. It took perhaps thirty seconds for the rest of the Death Eaters to arrive after what was probably a mad scramble to memorize their destination and leave without being last and risking more of the Dark Lord's wrath. Lucius would have dearly liked to watch, but he was just as afraid of the Dark Lord's anger as the rest of them.

"Where's the Chimera?" one of the Death Eaters asked stupidly.

"What's your name?" Lucius demanded impatiently.

"Maxwell Jugson?" he offered, losing confidence.

"Would you have preferred to Apparate directly to the Chimera, Jugson?" Lucius spat. "Offer yourself up as a snack, perhaps?"

"No, sir," Jugson replied meekly.

"I thought not," Lucius said, feeling satisfied. He turned around just in time to see the Chimera, perhaps attracted by the sound of the Apparations, envelope Cassandra Rosier's entire upper body in its huge lion head, one of three, lift her off the ground, shake her around a bit, and fling her aside. The rest of them didn't wait to see if she'd survived or even where she'd landed, they simply turned and ran toward the Forbidden Forest, the Chimera right behind them.

Thinking was difficult with most of his mind on the impossible task of outpacing the Chimera, but Lucius could not afford to fail again in the eyes of the Dark Lord, so he tried anyway. However, it was Jugson who hit upon the solution. Lucius thought it likely that the other Death Eater hadn't realized what he was about to do until after he'd done it, but in either case, one second he was running alongside the Chimera, far too close to the snapping goat's head and attracting some attention from the snake, the next he'd Apparated to a point several meters out of range.

Immediately seeing the benefit of this method, the others started doing the same, both to keep themselves from becoming the Chimera's next meal and to lure it along its way to Hogwarts.

However, it was all too easy to last. They hadn't progressed very far through the Forbidden Forest when they crossed the anti-Disapparation wards and were reduced, once again, to running for their lives, only now they had trees, undergrowth, and, before much longer, rain to contend with. However, those problems were soon superseded by a setback they had never anticipated: spiders.

They were horrible monstrosities and Lucius would never have believed that spiders could grow to that size if he hadn't seen it for himself. For a moment he found himself entertaining the notion that these gargantuan spiders might hinder the equally disproportionate Chimera long enough for him to reach Hogwarts, but it was not to be. Inconvenient as it was, Lucius at least had to admire the spiders their strategy: never pick a fight you can't win. In accordance with that, the spiders were ignoring the Chimera entirely, focusing their hungry stares on the Death Eaters instead.

Breath ragged and side aching, Lucius raced on, concern for the Chimera and the other Death Eaters gone, replaced by desperation to escape the spiders' domain. He narrowly dodged a spider that tried to jump onto him from above, only to trip over a second spider that had staged an echoing attack from below.

He fell to his knees and surged to his feet again a moment later, but it was long enough for a spider to jump onto his back. Lucius didn't even notice until a few steps later when he discovered a thick, hairy leg dangling over his shoulder. It might have been his mind playing tricks on him, but Lucius thought he heard a hoarse, clicking voice whisper, "You will make an excellent meal."

Forgetting that he already had his wand in his hand, Lucius panicked and ripped off his traveling cloak, fortunately leaving the spider behind with it. He ran as he had never run before, scarcely noticing the branches that ripped at his face and clothes, nor the roots underfoot, and never pausing to find out if he was still being pursued.

Eventually, Lucius found himself on a path and allowed his pace to slow. A brief survey of his surroundings indicated that there were no spiders or any other creatures in sight. Still, his situation had grown, if anything, more perilous now that he'd lost track of the Chimera and as much as his aching limbs complained for rest, he knew he could not oblige them and jogged on.

A few minutes later, Lucius crossed the tree line onto the grounds of Hogwarts. Even though he was now receiving the full force of the storm, he was immensely grateful to be rid of the forest. Still, his situation had not improved much, for now he was faced with the daunting task of finding a way to the seventh floor and the Room of Requirement without alerting the people inside Hogwarts to the fact that they were under attack, and he didn't have long at all to think of a solution, for if the Chimera hadn't reached the grounds yet then it would certainly be along shortly.

Lucius finally had an idea when he happened to glance across the grounds and catch a glimpse of the Quidditch pitch, though he nearly forgot it when Jugson came stumbling out of the forest nearby. Lucius wanted to be angry with the Death Eater for disturbing his thoughts, but he supposed he would need someone to guard the door once he found this Room of Requirement, and Jugson had at least shown enough cunning to abandon the rest of the Death Eaters to the spiders and the Chimera.

With two flicks of his wand, Lucius summoned a pair of brooms from the broom shed. A moment later, they arrived and Lucius found himself wondering if he ought to have put more effort into the charm instead of simply settling for the two brooms he could get most easily: the two ancient Shooting Stars he was holding were an insult to the term broomstick, he wouldn't have even allowed one of his house-elves to sweep the floor of his manor with it. Still, Lucius knew that time was short, so he contained his distaste, passed one broom to Jugson, mounted the other, and took to the air, motioning for Jugson to follow him.

The pouring rain and shoddy brooms conspired to make the task difficult, but Lucius succeeded in finding the astronomy tower eventually and landed, dropped the broom, and forced his way inside and out of the rain almost immediately. Jugson landed right behind him, making his way eagerly down the spiraling staircase and only stopping some ways down when he noticed that Lucius was no longer with him.

Lucius had only wandered down a few steps, for the moment he was much more interested in drying, mending, and straightening his robes and hair then any forward progress. He'd been forced into meaner situations and taken more hits to his pride and dignity than any Malfoy in history, and he'd accepted those willingly enough because they served his eventual goal, but he'd be damned if he was going to storm a castle looking like he'd just run for his life through a forest in the pouring rain, even if that was precisely what he'd just done. He joined the impatient and ragged looking Jugson soon enough and they descended the rest of the stairs leading to the seventh floor.

Immediately upon reaching the hallway, Jugson turned to make for the nearest staircase, but Lucius grabbed his arm and pulled him in the opposite direction.

Jugson looked first confused and then excited and said, "We goin' to knock some kiddies?"

"No, we are not know going knock some kiddies," Lucius hissed mockingly. "The Dark Lord has set me a special task and I need your help."

Jugson seemed disappointed at being denied the chance to do any actual fighting but knew better than to argue and followed Lucius, though not before yanking his arm out of the man's grip.

Lucius quickly discovered that his knowledge of the seventh floor was not quite as accurate as he'd thought and he belatedly realized that he'd led them through two wrong turns and had to take the long way round, though Jugson seemed not to notice. Eventually, he located the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and, more importantly, the bare patch of wall across from it.

Feeling a bit foolish but determined not to show it, Lucius paced through the hallway several times as Bellatrix had instructed, concentrating on his demand for a room that would show him the wards around Hogwarts. Still, he couldn't help but be skeptical, so when he looked back at the wall and found that a door had appeared where there was none before, he had to fake a mild coughing fit to mask his compulsive sigh of relief.

Lucius pulled the door open to find a darkened room within.

"Blimey," Jugson whispered, echoing Lucius' sentiments, though certainly not his phrasing.

What sat in front of them could only be described as beautiful. On a wide table was a perfect replica of Hogwarts and its grounds, with many colors shimmering around it like a cross between auroras and magnetic fields.

"Guard the door," Lucius ordered, turning to Jugson and realizing much too late that if he'd asked the room for a locking door it probably would have been given to him. Still, it was nothing that a simple colloportus couldn't fix.

Confidant now that he would at least have some warning if he was about to suffer an intrusion, Lucius turned his full attention to the visible representation of the wards around the school. Some were ancient, probably as old as the castle itself and as essential as any stone in its foundation. Those extended further than the rest, one encompassed Hogsmeade, and their light was dim but unwavering. There were the wards that made Hogwarts Unplottable and a dozen other forgotten things that held no use anymore. They were of no interest to Lucius. Instead, he leaned closer to each of the other bands, the modern ones, inspecting them, searching for a weakness, something he could exploit. He wasn't long in finding one.

There was a wide yellow band encompassing the entire grounds that was so dim in some places that he could hardly see it at all, and so bright in others that it was almost blinding in contrast to the dark room. Lucius could only assume that the original ward had been constructed by Dumbledore and weakened upon the old fool's death, and that his replacement had elected to try and strengthen the original ward rather than replace it. McGonagall must not have known about this room, or else she never would have deemed those measures sufficient, but it only made Lucius' task easier.

By the time Lucius finished inspecting the wards he'd found a dozen more in disrepair, most for the same reason as the yellow band, but a few for reasons unknown. In either case, Lucius was now left with the difficult task of determining which bands correspond with which wards and he found himself wishing that he'd thought to ask the room for a legend while he had the chance.

The anti-Apparition ward was simple enough to identify, at least. For the most part it looked similar to the other ancient wards, covering the entire grounds and part way into the forest, but from time to time it would brighten and fade, no doubt due to centuries of being removed and restored in certain places to allow the older students to practice for their Apparition exams.

The other wards, however, refused to present their properties quite so readily and Lucius was reduced to performing minor wards of his own to try and compare the colors. Still, he much preferred the intellectual pursuit, the chance to challenge his mind and cunning, to the idea of becoming cannon fodder for the Aurors. When Bellatrix had told him of this task she'd made it sound like punishment, and she'd probably thought it was. She'd deigned it impossible and assumed that the Dark Lord had only created the task so he'd get a reason to punish Lucius for his failure. Well Lucius was well on his way to proving her wrong, he'd already determined which ward was responsible for blocking up the floo network and found that the ward that prevented entrance to Hogwarts' grounds by broomstick was either the orange band that encompassed the entire lake or the red one that didn't.

Bellatrix ought not to have been so skeptical. After all, it was Draco who'd found a way to get Death Eaters past these same wards last year, outsmarting Dumbledore himself, and he had to get his brains from somewhere. His mother certainly wasn't particularly well endowed in that respect.

Lucius had just begun contemplating Narcissa's other more endearing qualities when his thoughts were interrupted by a faint pop.

"Damn it, Jugson," Lucius began, intending to tell him off for leaving without permission even if he was no longer present. However, he cut himself off when he glanced back at the model of Hogwarts and found that the anti-Disapparation ward was still quite intact.

Lucius turned around and found Jugson giving him a quizzical look, then happened to glance down and found that they had much less desirable company. Dobby was glaring up at him, wearing the most eclectic selection of clothes Lucius had ever seen on a single being at one time.

"What is you doing here?" Dobby demanded icily.

"Get rid of him, Jugson," Lucius said in lieu of a reply.

"Dobby will not be going," the house-elf said, and Lucius was almost surprised to hear a hint of a threat in his voice.

"You will leave," Lucius replied.

"Dobby will not."

"You've been a very bad elf."

Dobby's ears drooped and he shifted half an inch in the direction of the nearest wall, but ultimately held firm.

"I am your master," Lucius threatened.

"Dobby is a free elf, he has no master."

Lucius snorted in irritation. The elf had finally grown accustomed to his freedom, but he had to get rid of him soon. Even dim as he was, it was only a matter of time before Dobby would deduce their purpose here.

"If you don't leave, if you tell anyone that there are Death Eaters in the castle, I will go down to the kitchens and kill every last one of your fellow elves."

That, at least, had an effect. Dobby cringed visibly, looked for a moment as though he wanted to argue, and then disappeared with another pop.

After treating the empty air, where Dobby had been standing, to a smirk, Lucius turned and resumed his work.

Forty five minutes later, he'd deduced the remaining wards and found a way to alter them to the Dark Lord's advantage, but also stumbled across a problem: he couldn't change the wards from the Room of Requirement, it was simply too far from the center of the spells and he'd nearly dismantled the Muggle repelling charm when he'd tried to press on regardless. That had taken several minutes of quick thinking to repair, but along the way he'd decided that if he did his work closer to the center of Hogwarts it was unlikely that he would repeat the fiasco.

"Wait here," Lucius said, brushing past Jugson on his way to the door. Jugson gave him an irritated look, but no argument. Lucius had to resist the urge to smirk until he was outside. There was simply no denying that he was enjoying his position to keep the other man from what he so obviously wanted to do.

However, only a few minutes later, Lucius found himself wishing that he'd brought Jugson along. He was feeling exposed in the wide hallways after spending so long in the dark, enclosed space of the Room of Requirement and would have welcomed an extra wand. Instead, he double and triple checked every hallway and staircase before setting foot in it, and even took to darkening some of the hallways he entered, but still only narrowly escaped detection by passing Aurors on several occasions. All told, he was quite on edge by the time he'd reached the third floor, the level he'd decided would be best for tampering with the wards. However, as he was searching for a secluded place to work in, he happened upon a rather unwelcome distraction.

He was midway down a hallway that was so long and with so many branches that he'd decided to extinguish the lamps through the whole stretch of it before entering. He was beginning to search for a hallway that would lead him deeper into the center of the castle when he realized that the footsteps he was hearing were not his alone. Lucius paused, listening carefully, but the other person seemed to have realized that he or she was not the only person in that hallway. When Lucius whirled around to where he thought the footsteps had been coming from, he just barely caught a glimpse of a wand light as it was extinguished.

However, Lucius had an advantage that this intruder did not: after spending so long in the dark he was now quite accustomed to it. Indeed, if he looked hard enough he could see a figure cowering in the shadows, dim but unmistakable. Lucius didn't care if the other person was a Death Eater or an Auror, he was about to have a bit of fun in either case, either by punishing a Death Eater for running from the battle or sneaking up on an Auror. Smirking in anticipation, Lucius strode forward, his hand connecting at last with a shoulder draped in bushy hair.

"Lumos!" the other shouted, just as he turned her around, and Lucius blinked and found himself face to face with the Mudblood Hermione Granger. In a flash, he'd turned her back around, disarmed her, and pulled her tightly to his chest so she had no chance of escape.

"Hermione Granger," he sneered. "What a surprise."

He felt her shiver under his arms and laughed.

"You've been a horrible nuisance over the years, Mudblood," he continued, dragging her toward an empty classroom he'd discovered just before hearing her footsteps. "I think it's time someone taught you your place in this world."

Which gave Lucius an idea. His wand and Granger's were together in one hand, and he gave both a flick, pointing them at her. It wasn't a very sophisticated spell and only temporary at best, but it would be enough to prove his point, enough to show her that she ought to have stayed in her own world.

She began to fight back, kicking and scratching in every way she could, resisting his attempts to drag her away. She should have known that it would be no use. Her strength was no match for his. Finally she simply bit down on the hand that was covering her mouth.

"Expelliarmus!" she cried as soon as Lucius had pulled his bleeding hand away, but her attempt at a spell had no effect, as Lucius had known it wouldn't, for he'd blocked her ability to perform magic.

At last, Lucius forced her the final few steps into the empty classroom, kicked the door shut behind him, and threw Granger away from him. She tried to run, but he stopped her with a full body bind, which caused her to topple forward, flat on her face. A few seconds later she managed to unfreeze herself, which, Lucius grimly noted, must mean his spell was wearing off, but before she managed to regain any ground at all he flicked his wand again, lifting her into the air. She tried to return herself to the ground, but he simply redoubled his efforts.

"Not so clever now, are you?" Lucius gloated, inspecting her wand, the wand she was unworthy to own, before tossing it away. "You are a freak. You possess the magic that allows you into this world by mere chance and you only gained entrance here because of the charity of Muggle lovers like Dumbledore. You will never truly understand what it means to be a witch. You are lower than the lowliest house-elf. At least they understand their place."

Granger crossed her arms insolently. Her nose was bleeding but she made no attempt to staunch it

"No?" Lucius asked, eying her spitefully. "I can see, then, that a demonstration is in order."

Lucius flicked his wand upwards and Granger soared toward the ceiling at equal speed, only stopping when her head struck a crossbeam.

"Defend yourself, if you can," Lucius sneered, watching her try to shake off her blow to the head. He rotated his wand and she turned obligingly into an airborne headstand, now so distracted by the blood that had been flowing out of her nose that she could do nothing to prevent it.

"Well," Lucius continued, turning her right side up again. "Since you don't seem inclined to defend yourself, maybe you'd like to offer a suggestion about what you'd like to do next. A dance, perhaps."

With a flick of his wand, Lucius forced Granger's legs to perform a flailing Irish jig. She tried to hide it by shaking her head in defiance, but he could see the tears in her eyes. He was finally getting his point across.

"An impression of a top, then?"

He stopped the dance, then set Granger spinning. However, as he watched her he had a new idea, a better idea. Lucius allowed this to carry on a moment more before he started to slow Granger down. She was so dizzy that it took her some time before she could find his eyes.

"Or something more?" he asked, staring up at her.

Once more he flicked his wand, and this time Granger's arms stiffened then began inching toward the hem of her shirt. He felt her trying to resist, but he was too strong for her.

"No," she begged, her estimation of his intentions apparently going one step further than he meant. He had no desire to see any more of her than he needed to, nor to touch any more of her than he already had, but if scaring her like this was what it took to force her away from a world that never should have been hers in the first place, then he was willing to keep this going a bit longer.

However, not ten seconds later, the door to the classroom burst open and the great meddler himself, Harry Potter, burst in, followed closely by his sidekick Weasley. Without even pausing to consider his options, Lucius released the spells over Granger and raced out a second door to the classroom. He'd hoped that the two intruders would stop to help the Mudblood, but they gave chase instead, following him out of the classroom and down the hall. Lucius took advantage of the first corner he turned and made himself invisible while he was out of sight. Potter and Weasley seemed not to have anticipated that, and soon gave up their chase.

Seething over his close call and the interruption he'd suffered before he'd truly been able to convince Granger to leave the Wizarding world, Lucius returned to the task he'd been set, found an empty room that was satisfyingly close to the center of the castle, and began his work.

Lucius felt blinded somehow, manipulating the wards without the model of Hogwarts there to show the effects of his work. He could have dismantled the Unplottable charm and he'd never know it, but he was confidant in his plan and carried on unflinchingly, winding spells around himself before sending them out to Hogwarts as a whole.

After nearly half an hour of exhausting wand waving and chanting, Lucius declared his task finished and began making his way back up to the Room of Requirement to survey the results of his handiwork.

The going was much easier now. It seemed that sometime while he was occupied the battle had reached a peak. He couldn't traverse a hallway without passing some still form, unconscious or dead, Auror or Dead Eater. As he climbed, Lucius couldn't help but wonder if the Dark Lord had found Potter.

When Lucius returned to the Room of Requirement, Jugson looked, if anything, even more irritated than he had when Lucius left, but he ignored him and focused instead on the model of Hogwarts, inspecting the changes he'd made to the wards.

Everything seemed to be in order, only a few minor modifications were required, ones he could make without returning to the third floor, and Lucius set himself to it without delay. He was almost finished when he was interrupted by a series of pops from behind him and spun around to face Dobby and six other House Elves. Dobby snapped his fingers and Jugson slumped to the floor.

It was obvious that Lucius' former servant was no longer afraid of the threat against his fellows and Lucius didn't want to wait around for Dobby to do to him what he'd done to Jugson. Lucius scrambled for his wand, and then the first likely object he could think of, his wristwatch, and, taking advantage of his modifications to the Portkey ward, he tried to turn his watch into a Portkey, but he didn't have enough time to complete the spell before he heard another snap and all went dark.


	11. The Story of the Marauder

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.

**Chapter 11: The Story of the Marauder**

It could never be said that Twelve Grimmauld Place was an ideal location to spend one's afternoon, a fact that had only become more pronounced with Sirius' passing, but that day, and a few leading up to it, had been alright.

Maybe it was because their pattern of battle after crisis after battle finally seemed to have put an end to itself, or because there was always a few more people around than usual since they had fewer targets to guard, or because they'd all gotten a few good hours of sleep, but Remus was actually beginning to enjoy himself. There was also, of course, the fact that his hand in their game of poker contained the beginnings of a flush.

However, when he sent two cards to Shacklebolt, the two he got back were no help at all. It was a theme that continued for the rest of the round, until he was almost ready to agree with Mundungus when he next tried to ague that it really wasn't poker without Firewhiskey. He knew, at least, that he should have folded while he had the chance, especially since their game had digressed to involve the removal of minor articles of clothing.

"Take it off, old man," Tonks said when they finally showed their hands, eying his pair of threes with amusement.

Remus winked at her as he pulled off his remaining sock and tossed it on the pile. She might tease, but he knew when he ran out of minor articles of clothing, she'd take his side. That seemed like a rather likely eventuality as well, given that Remus was playing against two Aurors and a conman.

Four similarly unlucky hands later, Remus had narrowly won back his sock, lost it again, lost his other sock too, and volunteered to clean the dishes for the next week rather than remove his robe (Tonks' siding with him hadn't turned out quite the way he'd anticipated). He'd just decided that if he wanted to leave the game with any dignity at all he'd best do it soon, when a cat leapt heavily onto the table and settled itself directly on their pile of socks and chips. This would have been an entirely unremarkable occurrence, but Grimmauld Place contained no cats, and this one was a pure, ethereal silver.

There was no need to wonder where this cat, this patronus, had come from, or what it meant. Remus, Tonks, and Shacklebolt didn't even look at each other before abandoning their cards and surging to their feet. Senses already honed with adrenaline, Remus extracted his shoes and socks from the pot and leapt with unaccustomed nimbleness over a chair Tonks had overturned in her haste and not bothered to right.

He paused for only a moment in the living room to lean against a sofa and pull on his shoes and socks. Shacklebolt had already disappeared to the Ministry to gather the Aurors and Tonks was kneeling on the hearth with her head in a green fire, so Remus drew his wand and began sending patronuses to a memorized list of people.

"Let me do that," Remus volunteered a minute later when Tonks pulled her head out of the fire. "You need to get ready."

"That was Saint Mungo's," Tonks said in lieu of an agreement, as she got to her feet.

"This is Hestia Jones," Lupin replied, conjuring a final patronus before taking Tonks' place in front of the fire.

Doge, Vance, and Aberforth were contacted with minimal delay, and Remus was deep in conversation with a very anxious Molly Weasley when he felt Tonks' hand on his back. He reached blindly around and eventually found her knee, which he squeezed gently, hoping she'd understand that he couldn't leave the conversation he was already having. However, Molly seemed to notice his distraction and calmed down almost immediately, told him to get on with what he was supposed to be doing, and refused his offer to come by, saying she'd be at Grimmauld place a in a few minutes anyway.

Thanking her, Remus pulled his head out of the fire and turned to face Tonks. He blinked but did his best to control any other reaction when he saw that she'd changed into her heavy Death Eater robes. He hated seeing her wear those, it seemed like such an affront to her youth and beauty, a betrayal of everything she'd proved by joining the fight against people like her Aunt and Uncles, to put on the robes of her enemies, change her face, and pretend to be one of them, no matter how long or short the charade went on. Still, despite all that, the tiny sliver of himself that had remained a Marauder despite everything thought it was a laugh to see her charming face and spiky pink hair sitting atop a set of Death Eater's robes.

"I have to go," Tonks said unnecessarily.

"I know," Remus replied steadily.

"This could be it," Tonks added, making no move to leave. She seemed to be teetering on the verge of saying something else, but lacked the nerve or the words for it.

"Seems like it," Remus agreed.

Tonks leaned forward unexpectedly and planted her lips onto his. It wasn't a goodbye, more like good luck. They never said goodbye, no matter the danger of the situation one or both of them was about to walk into, a habit she'd gained during her time as an Auror and he'd developed through two open wars. Goodbyes were too final for situations like this and only served to create hopelessness. There were far better ways to express a farewell.

Far sooner than he would have liked, they pulled apart. Remus opened his eyes and found that he'd been kissing a woman who looked uncannily like Bellatrix Lestrange, a trick that Tonks had recently grown fond of playing that never failed to scare the hell out of him.

"Be careful," Remus said, shooting her the angriest look he could muster as she stood to go.

"Don't die," Tonks returned, her voice different but her inflection the same.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Remus shot back, returning to the fire. He heard Tonks Disapparate just before he plunged his head into the flame.

Five minutes later, Remus finished his last firecall and got unsteadily to his feet, his knees aching from their prolonged contact with the stone hearth. As he'd worked he'd been vaguely aware of people appearing in the room behind him but was still surprised by the shear number of them, milling around, waiting for instructions and looking worried but determined, organizing people into groups, uncovering the specially prepared portkeys they'd hidden, and double checking assignments.

Explaining the situation seemed unnecessary, word had already filtered around that the trouble was at Hogwarts, and that was all that could be known at the moment. Even Remus wouldn't know anything more until he got to the school.

So that's what he did. To do anything else would be a waste of time they didn't have, so Remus shouted to Mundungus to tell any stragglers to get to Hogwarts, promised Molly to do everything he could to protect her children, and joined one of the groups riding a Portkey to Hogwarts.

They arrived in the Entrance Hall and most of the group scattered almost immediately for their assigned positions. That Voldemort would take his fight to Hogwarts was one of their oldest suspicions and deepest fears and they'd held countless meetings planning and strategizing for this exact eventually. However, as Remus took his position with the rest of the defenders of the Entrance Hall, he couldn't help but notice how insufficient that all seemed. The conclusion they'd come to over and over again occurred to him now, no matter how many times he tried to banish it: Hogwarts was simply too big, they'd need an army two or three times the size of what they had to defend it properly. Even focusing their attention on the main entrance and secret passageways that Remus, and therefore Pettigrew, know about wouldn't be enough, because Hogwarts still had windows and, treated with unbreakable charms or not, if Voldemort found a way past the wards protecting the school then something like a window would be no trouble at all for him.

Abruptly, but too late to be surprised and too early to be happy, Remus noticed that Minerva had somehow learned of the danger early enough to get their defenses in place before the fighting began and suddenly the odds didn't seem quite so tall. He didn't have long to revel in his gratitude, for less than a minute later a black robed Death Eater stepped inside. Mad-Eye Moody aimed a spell at him from his place at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the rest of the school, but missed.

Remus had seen enough of these battles to know that Death Eaters were almost entirely predictable in their strategies: they entered any fight either ruthlessly or mockingly. Fortunately, these Death Eaters seemed to be looking for a bit of fun, which gave the defenders time to incapacitate as many as they could before their opponents turned angry.

Gradually, more defenders arrived to help: stragglers from the Order, late coming Aurors, and teachers who came rushing from their offices, but the Death Eaters received outside help as well, an unfortunate development, because the defenders were only just holding their own as it was. Out of the corner of his eye, Remus caught a glance of a spell that found Professor Flitwick. He fell heavily backwards onto the stairs. However, the most devastating development occurred a few minutes later.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Remus froze and looked round just in time to see a green bolt of light heading straight for him, but he wasn't the one it struck. It took a moment for him to realize that the spell had run its course, the battle had continued, and he was still alive to take part in it. Then someone slumped sideways into him. Remus caught her and lowered to the ground, wondering what Hestia Jones could possibly have done to deserve the end she'd been given. He returned to the fight with difficulty, aware that it had been his patronus that had summoned Hestia to the battle.

The Death Eater's strategy was far from mocking now. In fact, Remus could scarcely remember a time when he'd seen them more ruthless. However, they were not the only ones casting unforgivable curses now; most of the Aurors present were using the killing curse as well. Reluctantly, Remus wondered if he ought to join them in that, they were, after all, losing even more quickly now, but the unforgivables were something he'd always managed to avoid thus far in both wars and he'd been hoping to keep that policy if he could.

However, before Remus had quite made up his mind, the battle called itself to a close. Unexpectedly, Mad-Eye Moody stepped forward, took half-hazard aim at every Death Eater he could, and tried to put an end to nearly all of them before finally falling to the killing curse himself. As decisively as if they'd voted on the matter, those remaining took to the stairs and fled. As he went, Remus tripped over the still form of Professor Vector, who groaned at the impact. He hadn't seen her fall and had thought her dead, so Remus was relieved to find her alive and slung her over his shoulder before joining the others.

They picked their way up the crumbling steps, but there was no chance that they would be able to outrun or outfight the remaining Death Eaters, burdened as they were with wounded. Fortunately, Remus used to be a Marauder, and therefore knew Hogwarts better than most. The only trouble was, Pettigrew used to be a Marauder too, and Remus was quite certain he'd glimpsed him among the attacking Death Eaters. Still, there was the chance that Pettigrew wouldn't remember this particular passage, and, at the very worst, it was narrow enough to force the Death Eaters to attack one at a time.

Remus signaled the group to pause at an innocuous looking suit of armor a few hallways away. He lifted his wand and tapped its elbow and the suit of armor obligingly lifted one foot, revealing the entrance to a secret passageway.

"Pull it open and get inside," Remus ordered Minerva, the only one to lift her fallen charge with magic and therefore the only one two could bend over without much trouble.

Minerva obliged and they rushed into the passageway.

"How did-" Minerva asked.

"I'll explain later," Remus replied hurriedly. "This will lead us to the second floor."

"Second," Minerva breathed as she struck out down the passageway. "But the hospital wing's a floor above that."

"Best I can do," Remus replied, following her.

They made their way up a narrow and winding staircase. Its numerous and pointless switchbacks had always confused Remus in his school days and prompted the Marauders to avoid the passage unless they were in imminent danger of being thrown in detention. Now, weighted down with Professor Vector and in a tearing hurry, Remus would have cursed the passageway's designer, had he or she been available.

Finally, they reached the end of the passage, and Remus reached forward past Minerva to tap the trap door that would leave her out. The door slid open, illuminating their passageway. Minerva poked her head out, but promptly crouched down again. It took Remus a moment to learn why.

"Hey, I think I heard something!" said a hard voice from above. For a moment Remus thought they were going to be discovered, then he realized that he knew the voice.

They waited in silence for the footsteps to fade away, then Minerva straightened up again and they climbed into the hallway. Remus hurried to follow her, then rushed cautiously away to find where the source of the voice had gone. He reached a perpendicular hallway just in time to see a disguised Tonks running along behind a group of Death Eaters. She turned back, spotted him, raised a finger to her lips, and ran on.

"Nymphadora," Minerva whispered. Remus hadn't realized the Headmistress was there and didn't respond. He wasn't watching Tonks anymore either. He'd found it unexpectedly difficult to see her here in this battle, putting herself at such risk, and still finding ways to help them.

Minerva didn't press the matter, she simply walked away, making for the Hospital Wing, and Remus followed. It wasn't a long way to the Hospital Wing, but their progress was slow since they were continually forced to duck into classrooms and hidden passages to avoid roaming Death Eaters.

"Sanctuary," Minerva finally whispered when they reached the door to the Hospital Wing some fifteen minutes later. They slipped inside and lowered the wounded onto beds under Madam Pomphrey's supervision.

"How bad is it?" Pomphrey asked as she tended to Flitwick.

"Not good," Minerva replied euphemistically.

"I'm going to need help here," Pomphrey said.

"Where do you suppose we get it from," Minerva snapped with a harsh tone that Remus was sure could be attributed to nerves. "Even if we could get word to Saint Mungo's, the castle is completely sealed. Anyone they send wouldn't be able to get inside."

"Students, then," Pomphrey replied. "I've been working with Hannah Abbot; she wants to become a Healer and certainly knows her way around a healing charm."

"The students have been confined to their houses," Minerva pointed out.

"Then send someone to fetch her," Pomphrey suggested.

"Remus," Minerva said, pulling him from his own thoughts. "You seem to know this castle better than anyone."

"I'll find Hannah," Remus agreed immediately. He wasn't a fighter, he'd just learned how to get by, but he'd been a Marauder once, and if there was one thing that Marauders were good at, it was finding ways to sneak past their foes.

"You know the way to Hufflepuff house?" Minerva asked.

Remus nodded, James had happened upon it during their first year.

"The password is 'Fwooper,'" Minerva finished, and Remus left.

However, he'd barely made it down his first staircase when he turned a corner and found himself facing Severus Snape. Hardly even sparing a moment for thought, Remus lifted his wand, but was surprised when he saw that Snape had not. In fact, he seemed to be making no move for a wand at all. Remus hesitated, considering this development. He couldn't attack a defenseless man, even if that man was Severus Snape.

"You're a better man than me," Snape said, eying the wand that was pointed at him.

"Still, I've lost four friends and you've lost four enemies," Remus replied, taken aback by the spite in his own voice. "If this was a competition I'd say you were winning."

"Not all of them were my enemies," Snape said, and Remus was astonished to hear a hint of regret in his voice. He tried to formulate a retort, but too many questions flooded up at once and he simply stood there, gaping.

"Where is Potter?" Snape demanded after it became clear that Remus was not going to continue on his own.

"What's your interest in him?" Remus replied, questions forgotten. He tightened his grasp on his wand, curiosity forgotten and replaced with fear.

"I suppose you've noticed that he tends to behave recklessly in situations like this," Snape explained, and Remus found himself surprised again. "I intend to make sure that he lives long enough to encounter the Dark Lord."

The small bubble of hope that had been floating up in Remus' chest burst and fear and anger rushed in.

"I see. You want to present Harry to your master yourself."

"I want the Dark Lord to be defeated," Snape replied.

Remus watched him, mind working furiously. It sounded as though Snape knew that Harry was the only person who could defeat Voldemort, but there was only a very select group of people who knew about the prophecy. Surely Harry didn't trust Snape enough to tell him about it. Had Dumbledore? But why?

"Professor Dumbledore told you the prophecy," Snape said unexpectedly. Apparently he'd been thinking along the same lines as Remus.

"No, Harry did," Remus replied, lowering his wand.

"Ah," Snape replied.

"Harry won't listen to you," Remus said.

"I wasn't expecting him to," Snape said.

"Good luck to you," Remus replied, turning to go.

"Wait," Snape called, and when Remus turned back he thought he saw a look of curiosity cross Snape's face. "How do you know I'm not still loyal to the Dark Lord?"

"Because I've spoken with Harry and Nymphadora Tonks," Remus replied honestly. "Comparing their stories it seems that Draco Malfoy is a changed person, and that's after spending a year in hiding with you. I have also observed that Draco is not as adept at deception as you."

"I see," Snape said.

"Sorry I never tried to stop them," Remus said suddenly. The words were out before he even knew he wanted to say them. "James and Sirius, I mean."

Snape bristled, then sombered.

"There were several things I could have done to change the situation as well."

Remus had a sudden idea, and again he spoke without quite deciding to.

"Bigger things are going on right now, but, maybe, when this is over, we should talk."

"Very well," Snape replied as they parted ways. "Good luck to you."

Remus had meant to ask about Dumbledore and hadn't yet, but he'd left it until too late, and now they had no time. By the time Remus had decided to call Snape back anyway, he was already gone, so, still feeling a bit unsettled by the whole conversation, Remus carried on making his way to Hufflepuff house.

Remus Lupin thought himself a scholar, a delusion that had persisted through seven years as a Marauder, two wars, and still followed him now. It was a fool's notion he knew, scholars didn't fight wars, they studied them after they were over, they didn't become second in command of resistance movements, they locked themselves in libraries for days at a time and taught lectures no student could hope to understand and developed antisocial idiosyncrasies and never ever risked their lives traveling through war zones to pull students from the safety of their common rooms and drag them into that same war zone.

Remus had been a teacher once. He'd spent the best year of his adult life in front of a classroom, teaching his students how to ward off Boggarts and hinkypunks. Something about his current task went so deeply against the grain of that year, of the man he preferred to be, that it was almost nauseating. If this same battle had occurred four years ago, he never would have considered asking a student to assist in triage during a battle. He never even would have put the idea in her head. He would have found another way, assisted Madam Pomphrey himself if he had to.

But that was four years ago and this was now and as much as he liked to think of himself as a scholar, he was really a ready wand who'd seen battle before, the second in command of the Order of the Phoenix who knew the layout of Hogwarts better than McGonagall herself and had very little to lose. Strange as it was to think it, he was a soldier in nearly every sense of the word, and soldiers do what they're told, no matter what they think.

As Remus progressed closer to Hufflepuff House, he began to ponder just what he'd say to Hannah when he found her, interrupting his own thoughts from time to time whenever a Death Eater passed by, so he could pick the fights he could win and shelve his Gryffindor pride and run from the ones he couldn't.

Harry was hardly a typical student in situations such as this, but Remus found his thoughts drifting back to him for reference nevertheless. McGonagall might have sent him a warning, or she might have forgotten, she hadn't mentioned it and he hadn't asked, but, even if Harry had been in Hogsmeade when this started, there was no doubt in Remus' mind that Harry was in Hogwarts now with Ron and Hermione, doing his level best to put an end to this war. Remus also knew that Harry would be doing the exact same thing even if he'd never heard that prophecy, which an exhausted and defeated looking Harry had finally confessed to Remus that Christmas, when the weight of it had finally grown too much for him to bear, even with Ron and Hermione at his side.

Remus made a vow to find Harry and help him however he could once he'd finished escorting Hannah back to the Hospital Wing, but then he happened to glance down a side hallway and glimpse something that made his limbs freeze and his blood boil and banished both tasks from his mind: Fenrir Greyback had just passed by on a parallel hallway. He was far away but Remus knew there was no chance he could be mistaken, he'd never forget that prowl. Abruptly, Remus became immensely grateful that tonight was not a full moon: not only would he have been forced to stay away from the fight, but he was quite certain that Greyback would have entered the castle regardless, and the results would have been catastrophic.

Hannah would have to wait, neither as a scholar nor a soldier could Remus allow Greyback to wander these halls, and he turned the corner toward the other werewolf, intending to follow him at a safe distance until the odds were in his favor or something forced his hand. Both possibilities happened at almost exactly the same time.

Greyback put on a sudden burst of speed. Remus found out why a moment later when Greyback rushed forward into an intersection with another hallway that overlooked the level below on one side. Watching, Remus saw that he ran into something, something invisible but solid all the same. Remus looked closer and realized that the something was Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who'd had the misfortune to cross this way at the wrong moment. Remus was well aware that werewolves' senses of smell were quite adept, even in human form; Harry's invisibility cloak wasn't enough to help them.

Ron and Hermione scrambled immediately back under the cloak, but Harry did not. Instead, he faced the werewolf, wand drawn, fearless, and about to suffer the same fate as Bill. Remus was still too far away, he couldn't do anything to help. Then, though Remus was sure that Harry hadn't moved his wand, Greyback suddenly fell to the ground. Remus raced closer to see what had happened and nearly pulled up short in his surprise. He blinked, but the image was still the same: Peter Pettigrew had pinned Greyback to the ground.

"Harry! Hide!" Remus yelled as he finally reached the battle. He knew enough of Harry to suspect that he would do no such thing, but he chanced a glance long enough to see that the decision was taken out of his hands: Ron and Hermione had forced him under the cloak with them.

Greyback tossed Pettigrew away and stood up. He had no wand, but this fact did not inspire the same compassion in Remus as it had when he was facing Snape. Remus flicked his wand and a deep cut opened on Greyback's shoulder, but he paused in disgust as Greyback ran his hand over the wound then peered at the blood on his fingers with interest.

"So, Remus, this is how you repay me."

"I am not in your debt," Remus replied hotly, taking aim again, but then he looked down and saw that Pettigrew was slowly crawling toward Greyback's feet, an angry look in his eye. With some effort, Remus forced himself to look up before Greyback traced his gaze.

"You owe me your life; I made you who you are."

"You made me an outcast," Remus said truthfully, but also grateful that the truth was keeping Greyback's attention entirely on him. "I'm not about to thank you for it."

Greyback chuckled horribly.

"After all these years you have yet to realize that I made you stronger. I thought maybe you knew when you joined us two years ago, but you have proven that you are just as weak as any other wizard."

"I guess it's true what they say, then," Remus replied. "You can never trust a werewolf."

Greyback let out a cry of anger and rushed forward, wracking his long and sharp fingernails over Remus' neck and chest. He ripped the fabric of the robe and broke the skin, but then let out a cry of pain and dropped to the floor: Pettigrew had used his silver hand to crush the bone in Greyback's leg.

However, Greyback then turned the full force of his anger on Pettigrew and started scratching at him instead. He even took hold of Pettigrew's arm so he wouldn't be able to get away. Desperately, Pettigrew disappeared and Wormtail appeared, but that made matters, if anything, worse, for Greyback simply transferred his grip to the rat's tail and gave him a deep scratch down his entire spine. Wormtail squealed in pain, and there was only one thing Remus could think of to do.

Grimly, Remus flicked his wand, constricting Greyback's throat. Greyback released Wormtail almost immediately and fumbled desperately for the force that was cutting off his air, but Remus did not let up. He didn't release the spell until he was certain that Greyback was dead.

"Did he bite you?" Remus asked shakily. He was finding it very difficult to pocket his wand, and when he accomplished that, even harder to tear off a strip from his robes. When he finally managed it, he pressed the strip to his neck to try and staunch the worst of the bleeding. At last he looked up and found that Pettigrew had resumed his usual appearance.

"I think these are all scratches," Pettigrew replied, pulling back his sleeves to more closely inspect his arms.

"That's good," Lupin replied, and meant it.

"So," Pettigrew continued, "we can work together after all, Moony."

Remus blinked. No one had called him Moony since Sirius died, and he had been unprepared for how good it would feel to hear someone call him by his old school nickname again. It seemed like a betrayal, somehow, to even consider trusting the man who had led Voldemort to the Potters, but Pettigrew had just risked his skin to help both Remus and Harry in that fight. Furthermore, if he could settle his differences with Snape then surely he could do the same with Peter.

"I suppose so, Wormtail," Remus said finally, reaching down to pull Peter to his feet.

They simply stared at each other for a moment, and just as Remus was beginning to think that the moment had grown ripe for the both of them to burst out laughing, as though it had all been some grand cosmic joke, Pettigrew shoved him roughly away.

Unprepared for such an attack, Remus stumbled backward until he fell against the banister. He didn't manage to draw his wand until a moment later, but that was useless. Pettigrew didn't even lift his own wand; he simply used his silver hand as a shield, moving it to deflect everything Remus aimed at him. A few agonizing moments later, Pettigrew was standing right in front of him. He placed a hand on Remus' chest, smirked, and pitched him backwards over the banister. Remus didn't have enough time to find a way to save himself before he struck the hard granite floor of the level below.

Remus couldn't be sure how much time had passed when he was painfully jostled into consciousness. He coughed and tasted blood, and was more than a little surprised to find himself alive. He was lying on his back and his arms seemed alright, but his legs, those he couldn't even feel.

"Professor? Professor Lupin?"

Remus recognized the voice, but it took him a moment to place it.

"Harry?" Remus gasped. During his fights with Greyback and Pettigrew, he hadn't spared a thought to wonder whether Harry, Ron, and Hermione had left, he'd simply assumed that they'd moved on. "You shouldn't be here. You have to go. Everyone's counting on you."

"Everyone can wait," Harry replied.

Remus knew it would be pointless to argue, but he also knew that Harry couldn't linger there for long. Still, there were a few things that Remus thought he ought to say.

"Your father would be proud of you."

"Thanks," Harry stuttered. For the first time, Remus noticed that Ron was kneeling next to him as well, looking equally uncomfortable, but Hermione was some distance away. Remus had to squint to see her properly. From the looks of things, she was trying to keep her attention away from the rest of them. Furthermore, though it seemed like a self-centered observation, it looked to Remus as though something beyond his own impending death was upsetting her. Harry and Ron seemed oblivious, but the more Remus watched her, the more certain he became that something was very wrong.

"I can't count the number of times I have been amazed by the ingenuity of all three of you," Remus said, supposing he wouldn't get another chance to say it. Then, suddenly, a horrible idea came to him, and he knew he wouldn't get another chance to say it. "Together, there is nothing that can stop you."

Remus glanced again between Harry and Ron and saw their determination to stay with him until the end, but their determination would lose them the battle and Remus' life wasn't worth that. He hated it, Harry trusted Remus implicitly, and he was about to betray that, but his mind was made up. He took three deep breaths, and hardly had to act to make them look agonizing.

"Help her!" he rasped, grabbing Harry's shoulder and Ron's forearm but looking at Hermione, then he let out half a breath, dropped his arms, and let his eyes unfocus.

"Wait!" Harry cried, shaking Remus' shoulder painfully. It was all he could do to force himself not to react. "Come back! Help who?"

Remus nearly gave up the ruse right then. They didn't know he'd meant Hermione, but he'd never been as sure of anything as he was that she needed her two best friends.

"There's a group of Death Eaters coming," Hermione interrupted, effectively ruining any ideas Remus might have had about resurrecting himself, but still Harry did not leave. In fact, he began shaking Remus still more vigorously.

"It's no use, mate, he's gone," Ron interrupted, and Remus was surprised to find that his voice sounded thick and shaky. "We've got to go."

"We can't just leave him here," Harry sobbed, and Remus felt his resolve falter once again.

"We don't have a choice," Hermione said, and finally Harry and Ron stood and left.

They were hardly a moment too soon. The three of them had barely left Remus' side before the Death Eaters were upon him. Fortunately, they, like Harry, Ron, and Hermione, found his ruse convincing, and they continued on after a few rough kicks to his already broken ribs.

Remus held his breath for as long as he could, knowing that the Death Eaters could come back any moment, but soon he simply couldn't hold it any longer. He allowed himself to exhale and caught half a breath before a coughing fit overtook him. He was sure that every Death Eater in the area would hear him and come running, but he couldn't stop, it felt like he was coughing up at least as much blood as he was air. Finally, the fit subsided and Remus was amazed and relieved to discover that he hadn't attracted the attention of any Death Eaters, at least none that he could see.

Remus was no stranger to helplessness, being reliant on a potion he lacked the skill to brew himself to keep from turning into a monster once a month tended to do that to him, but at least those situations could only last a week and held the familiarity that came with repetition. So far as Remus could figure, this predicament could only end one way.

Remus sighed and reached out around himself a little, hoping he'd be able to find his wand, but his hand connected with something else first, which, though he couldn't lift his head to see it, he concluded must be his own foot, though it might as well have been someone else's, he couldn't feel his hand on the appendage and it was twisted up in entirely the wrong direction. He sighed again, bringing up a bit more blood this time, wishing he could have broken his back in a place with a more interesting ceiling.

Remus wasn't sure how long he laid there for, he might have drifted off to sleep or the seconds might have started melting into one another, but in either case the next thing he became aware of was light footsteps nearby, which ran up to him before he had time to pretend to be dead. A dark haired woman in Death Eater robes appeared next to him. He tried to squirm away but the effort made him woozy, he must have lost more blood than he thought, but then he blinked and the Death Eater became Tonks. He blinked again, not quite sure what he'd just seen.

"You're okay, you're okay," she whispered in a voice that was probably supposed to be soothing. "I'm here, I've got you, just hold on, you're okay."

Remus could dimly see that she was running her wand over him, and occasionally he'd feel a slight tickle of magic, but each time she only seemed to grow more frustrated and repeated her mantra a bit louder.

"Tonks," Remus said, grabbing for her wrist and missing the fifth time this happened. His tongue felt slow and stupid.

"It's okay, I'm here," she said, taking his hand. "I just need to get you back to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomphrey will fix you up in no time." But it was obvious that she didn't believe it any more than he did.

"Tonks."

"I'll just need some help to get you there…"

"Tonks."

"…maybe I could trick a few Death Eaters."

"Nymphadora."

"Don't call me that," she snapped habitually.

"You weren't answering to the other one," Remus pointed out. "You can't save me. Just go and help Harry-"

He'd meant to continue that thought, but now that he'd brought up Harry he couldn't let it go so easily.

"I'm not going to give up on you," Tonks was babbling.

"I tricked Harry," Remus interrupted dismally. "He trusted me, enough to tell me about the prophecy, he hadn't even told Arthur and Molly, and I tricked him."

"How so?" Tonks asked, finally listening to him.

"I made him think I'd died," Lupin explained heavily, "so he'd leave me here and do what he needed to do."

"I guess he'll be a happy guy when he finds you alive later," Tonks said.

"We both know that's not going to happen," Remus replied.

"Don't say that," Tonks said shakily, leaning forward.

"Don't!" Remus yelped, catching her shoulder and forcing her backward with as much strength as he could muster. "You can't get my blood in your mouth."

"I don't care," Tonks cried.

"I do," Remus replied. "I won't have you making a legacy of yourself by carrying on my curse."

"It's not fair," Tonks cried, her tears falling onto his face, which she wiped off gently with her sleeve.

"Who said anything about fair," Remus said. "I tricked Harry; I never would have tried it with James. It was very Slytherin of me."

"This war will make Slytherins of all of us," Tonks said with a faraway look.

"To know thy enemy…" Remus agreed.

He'd expected Tonks to complete the cliché, but she didn't seem to know the rest of it and the trailing sentence must have made her nervous because she blurted, "Say hi to Sirius for me."

"Will do," Remus replied. "Don't miss me for too long, alright? You deserve to find someone else."

"I'll always miss you," Tonks said, "but I'll have the moon to remember you by."

"Not the moon," Remus groaned. "Anything but the moon."

"Oh, alright," Tonks quipped playfully. "I suppose there's always that bonsai tree you killed. What did you name it? Joey?"

"Alright, not anything," Remus said. "And leave Joey out of it."

Time lost all meaning as they stayed there, trading jokes and stories, Tonks stroking Remus' hair until he fell into a sleep he'd never wake up from.


	12. The Story of the Servant

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.

**Chapter 12: The Story of the Servant**

"Dobby is needing to hurry up with those kippers," Mirri squeaked over the general clang and clatter of the kitchen, rushing past with a huge plate of dinner rolls balanced in the air in front of her.

Dobby dutifully heeded her command, although there was really very little he could do to prepare his dish any faster. He was certain that Mirri knew it too, but she often treated him to small reminders such as that. If she did not, then the other house-elves would eventually take it upon themselves to make sure Dobby's mind was on the food and not where he was going to spend his next day off, often to the detriment of their own dishes. Once it had gotten so bad that they had not been able to hear the orders about the food over the shouts to Dobby, and lunch had been presented to the students almost thirty seconds late. Mirri had given them such a telling off that day.

Ordinarily, house-elves were to answer to their masters and their masters alone. In no other place had Dobby ever heard of a house-elf leading her fellows, but he also knew of no other place that kept a hundred house-elves at once. Mirri had risen as leader some time before Dobby came to Hogwarts. She took orders from Mistress McGonagall and was their voice when speaking with the Headmistress. Mirri had as much wisdom as Dobby had ever known a house-elf to possess and he was happy to carry out her interpretation of McGonagall's orders.

The shouts grew increasingly frantic over the next few minutes as dinnertime approached, and not all of them came from Mirri. This was the most hectic part of the day, but also the one Dobby liked the most: all of them working together to get dinner finished on time. They were a sight to see, in his opinion, and, furthermore, it was only during this time that the other house-elves forgot to disapprove of Dobby's freedom.

With hardly a second to spare, a final plate of chips was placed on the Slytherin table, and, as one, the house-elves lifted the meal to the Great Hall. After that there was very little for them to do except for clean whatever dishes they could, enjoy their own dinners, watch for the familiar glow that meant on of the platters above had gone empty, and wait for a student to leave the table, returning his or her dirty dishes to the kitchen.

After the noise and chaos of preparation, the quiet and calm was almost stifling, but conversations began to creep in soon enough.

Dobby let them wash over him as he nibbled at a chip with one hand and swirled soapy water around his frying pan with the other. Two of his companions nearby were bartering about who would clean the Ravenclaw Tower that night and another, a few burners over, was warning those nearby about a rumor he'd heard of a mishap in the Potions classroom. Dobby rarely joined in these conversations, for by now the other house-elves had remembered their distaste for him. It was somewhat lonely, but Dobby didn't mind. He cleaned the Gryffindor Tower every night without complaint, accepting whatever help another house-elf happened to volunteer, but never expecting assistance.

"Winky is putting Butterbeer in the pumpkin juice again," someone shouted from across the kitchen and everyone immediately fell silent.

Mirri hurried past to investigate and Dobby sighed and followed. This was an old argument and one he was not looking forward to having again.

"Is she putting any in the juice that was meant for the students?" Mirri asked the accuser, who, most unfortunately, happened to be Kreacher.

Dobby sighed again from his place and Winky's side. Knowing Kreacher, his allegations were almost as likely to be false as they were to be true.

"Kreacher is not knowing," the foul elf replied, leaving no doubt in Dobby's mind that Kreacher knew that Winky hadn't contaminated anything.

"I is not putting anything in the students' juice," Winky confirmed with a hiccough and a sob.

"But you are putting Butterbeer in the pumpkin juice?" Mirri pressed, fixing Winky with a stare.

"Yes," Winky admitted, looking away.

"You see?" Kreacher exclaimed, "I is telling you!"

"I was thinking it was mine!" Winky sobbed, losing all control.

Dobby glanced to Kreacher, who smiled openly, and had to stifle a groan himself. Dobby had served the Malfoys long enough to know a foul plot when he saw one, and Kreacher, senile as he was, had served the Blacks long enough to concoct one. Winky was prone to mistakes such as that, but Dobby wouldn't have been surprised to discover that it had been her juice when she put the Butterbeer in it, and that Kreacher had switched their cups while she wasn't looking. However, the house-elves distaste for Winky's admittedly foul habit was so deep seated that they were likely to side with Kreacher, who had garnered at least some of their approval by doing a minimal amount of work, even though he only did that because he was bound by oath.

"Kreacher must not be picking on Winky," Dobby said in a low voice. Everyone but Winky turned to look at him, surprised, as though they hadn't realized he was there.

"Kreacher is not picking on anybody," he hissed. "Winky is putting Butterbeer in the pumpkin juice."

"You is never liking Winky," Dobby replied, looking to Mirri for support. She was turned the other way, distracted, so he carried on by himself. "You is never liking any of us and you is trying to get Winky in trouble."

"I is telling the truth," Kreacher maintained, glaring at him.

Dobby paused, struck, seeing no way to win the argument without the support of the other elves, who were looking torn but ready to take any side that wasn't Winky's. His only hope was to get Mirri's support, but she seemed to have forgotten the dispute entirely. Her whole attention was on the tables.

"Winky is making a mistake," Dobby began, but that was as far as he got, for Mirri cut across him before he could continue.

"They should be wanting more by now," she said, sounding lost and shaken.

Dobby desperately wanted to continue defending Winky, but Mirri's words demanded respect and her tone demanded concern, so he turned with the other elves to investigate what had upset her.

"No platters are needing refilling, no plates are needing washing," Mirri breathed, and now that he'd noticed, Dobby had to agree that there was cause for concern. The students were generally light eaters during the evenings after Hogsmeade visits, but never in all of Dobby's time at Hogwarts had a meal gone on this long without at lease one student leaving, sending his or her dishes down to be washed.

The dispute between Dobby, Winky, and Kreacher was immediately forgotten and everyone turned their full attention to the tables, watching for any glow in tense silence.

"Was Mistress McGonagall forgetting to tell us she was planning something?" someone asked edgily after a few minutes.

"I was speaking to her this morning," Mirri replied. "She was saying nothing about this."

They waited the allotted dinner hour without observing any change, then an extra five minutes, just in case, but Mirri finally conceded that they had to bring the food back. When they did, it didn't take long to notice that not a single morsel of it had been touched.

"This is not liking our food!" Mirri cried.

The kitchen fell silent. No one spoke, they hardly even breathed as the horror and enormity of what had just happened sank in.

Slowly, elf by elf, they ventured forward, still not speaking, making sure that things truly were as bad as they looked, bantering feeble theories as they went.

"Perhaps we is mistaking the time."

"Maybe Mistress McGonagall is changing the time and forgetting to tell us."

"Maybe all the students is leaving the school today."

"Perhaps they will be hungry later."

"We must be saving this!" Mirri commanded with sudden authority, latching on to the one suggestion with any pertinence.

Within seconds, a massive operation was underway. Never before, to Dobby's knowledge, had the Hogwarts elves been required to save so much food, and they didn't have the space, but they set about the task with their usual diligence.

Before long, the food from the tables had been placed in containers, subjected to every magic of preservation the elves knew, and stacked in twelve piles that reached from floor to ceiling. After several near disastrous episodes as the elves busied themselves with straightening the kitchen, the stacks were also fitted with spells to keep them from falling.

Dobby busied himself with the cleaning, but he had one distraction that the other Elves seemed to have forgotten. Winky may have gotten off easily in her disagreement with Kreacher, but the encounter seemed to have entirely unhinged her and she was now completely finished for the evening. She was teetering dangerously on her stood, her attempts to hide her Butterbeer in pumpkin juice forgotten along with the stack of dirty dishes she was to clean.

Concerned, Dobby quickly completed his cleaning, then Winky's, knowing that he'd have to wait to confiscate her Butterbeer until she was too far gone to protest, which didn't take long.

Gently, Dobby pulled Winky's latest bottle of Butterbeer from her limp grasp, noting that the other elves were expressing their disapproval by ignoring the both of them entirely. Dobby ignored them back, knowing they would be so disinterested if they hadn't witness this spectacle so many times. He gathered up Winky's semi conscious form, and, with a slightly hampered snap, disappeared.

This same situation had occurred several dozen times since Winky came to Hogwarts after she was dismissed by Master Crouch and Dobby had taken care of her the same way each time, by bringing her up to the Come and Go Room. However, never in any of those times had Dobby encountered a setback like the one that now faced him: there was already a door in the wall. Someone was using the Come and Go Room.

Dobby paused, debating. The Come and Go Room was a little known secret in Hogwarts. He'd long harbored the hope that Harry Potter and his friends would resume using the room to practice their Defense Against the Dark Arts, but it was far more likely that someone had happened upon it by accident and had not idea about the true nature of the room. Additionally, Dobby had been made aware of how Draco Malfoy had used the room during the previous school year, and had to concede the troubling possibility that it could again be used for nefarious ends. Harry Potter probably wouldn't mind a visit, anyone who'd come upon the room by accident would probably believe that Dobby had been as mistaken in his destination as they were, and if the room was being used for evil, then the least Dobby could do was discover it.

His mind made up, Dobby lowered Winky to the floor near the wall, snapped his fingers, and appeared inside. Standing there was the one wizard he'd hoped never to see again: his former master Lucius Malfoy. Dobby felt a sudden chill. There was no longer any doubt that the Come and Go room was being used for terrible things.

"What is you doing here?" Dobby demanded, staring up at Malfoy.

"Get rid of him, Jugson," Malfoy replied, hardly even looking at Dobby.

"Dobby will not be going," the house-elf growled.

"You will leave," Malfoy said.

"Dobby will not."

"You've been a very bad elf," Malfoy added.

Dobby wilted, the habits of his long servitude drawing him toward the nearest wall, but he forced himself to ignore them. Malfoy was no longer his master.

"I am your master," Malfoy growled.

"Dobby is a free elf," he countered. "He has no master."

"If you don't leave," Malfoy threatened, "if you tell anyone that there are Death Eaters in the castle, I will go down to the kitchens and kill every last one of your fellow elves."

Dobby froze, Malfoy's terrible threat echoing through his mind. There was no doubting his sincerity. If Dobby disobeyed his former master, Malfoy would kill all of his fellow house-elves just to punish him. He had no choice but to obey, and disappeared with a snap of his fingers.

Dobby reappeared in the hallway, visibly trembling, and rushed to Winky, hoping to get her away from this place as quickly as possible.

"What is you doing here?" someone asked when Dobby and Winky appeared in the elves' quarter adjacent to the kitchens a moment later.

Dobby didn't answer and brushed past the elf on his way to Winky's bunk. He got her settled in, but then wasn't sure what to do next. Ordinarily after dinner he was to clean the classrooms on the east side of the third floor, but he simply couldn't return to his duties as usual when he knew that something terrible was happening in the castle. On the other hand, Mas- Lucius Malfoy had been quite specific in his threat, and all the punishments in the world wouldn't be enough if Dobby brought harm to the rest of the elves.

For the first time in memory, Dobby found himself completely frozen, with no idea what to do, and he remained that way, watching Winky sleep without really seeing her, until Mirri came by.

"Dobby must be doing his cleaning."

This was no obligatory reminder to appease the other elves, there was necessity and a bit of anger in Mirri's tone this time. But Dobby didn't stop to wonder how long he'd been standing there nor how many elves word of his dereliction of duty had filtered through before they reached Mirri, he hardly even thought at all, and only acknowledged Mirri's order by trotting promptly to the supply closest, gathering up his cleaning things, and disappearing to the first of his assigned classrooms without a second's delay.

It was so much easier this way, Dobby mused as he began cleaning the chalk board of the Charms classroom, taking orders without thought or question, completing a task and moving on to the next without knowing or caring about the eventual goal. It was what his ancestors had done for a thousand years before him and what he hadn't realized he'd miss when he left all that behind with the Malfoys. He'd forgotten what it meant to be an elf, to take pride and pleasure in helping another without any thought of personal gain. No wonder the other elves didn't care for him. They didn't begrudge him his freedom; they disrespected him for his selfishness. Well no more, first thing in the morning he'd go up to see Mistress McGonagall and tell her that he no longer wanted wages or days off, and ask if he could get one of the elves' tea-towel uniforms. Harry Potter and his friends might not approve, but they did not know what it meant to be a house-elf.

Before long, Dobby had cleaned the chalkboard, checked the undersides of the desks for gum, and cleared away some feathers left by the charms club. He was scrubbing at an ink stain when the door opened unexpectedly. Dobby jumped to his feet and scurried out of sight, it was the mark of a good house-elf to be noticed only by his work, after all. However, his mind, so accustomed now to curiosity, began to question the situation before he could stop it. The time was now well after curfew and the Charms classroom several floors away from the nearest House, so it was unlikely that a student had just entered. The teachers usually confined themselves to their offices at this time of night, but perhaps one of the Aurors who'd taken to patrolling the castle had come to check on things, although that didn't explain why they didn't leave now that they'd seen that the room was deserted.

Wishing he could just let whoever it was finish their business and leave, Dobby once again bowed to his curiosity and leaned out from behind the teacher's desk. What he saw froze him more effectively than even Lucius Malfoy's threat against the house-elves. Dobby had never heard a description of the creature who used to be a man, but he didn't need one, there was simply no mistaking him. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was standing there in the Charms classroom, not two meters away.

For perhaps the first time in his entire life, Dobby had no idea what to do. He had no orders for situations like this, no experience to fall back on, just shock and fear that coursed through his entire body before finally settling in his brain, halting all other thought.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was speaking to two other wizards, but not looking at them: his terrible red eyes were sweeping across the entire room, and Dobby was still only half hidden. He couldn't move, he was going to be discovered, those red eyes would fall on him any second, and then, suddenly, he wasn't in danger anymore. Somehow, without even realizing it, Dobby had disappeared from the Charms classroom and appeared somewhere else. He hardly cared where he was, he simply fell to his knees in relief and heaved a huge sigh, only realizing then how oppressive the air in the Charms classroom had become while He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was there. With breath came thought and with thought came the realization that Dobby had to tell someone that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was in the castle, someone who would know what to do, someone who could tell him how to keep the other elves safe even if Lucius Malfoy tried to make good on his threat.

Thinking of Mistress McGonagall first, Dobby transported himself to the outside of her office door. He raised a shaking hand but knocked so weakly that he could hardly hear it himself and was hardly surprised that there was no response from inside. However, when a second try revealed that, in his present state, he was incapable of knocking any louder, Dobby decided to simply transport himself inside.

Mistress McGonagall's office was completely deserted, and the brief hope Dobby had gained when he thought he would soon get her advice was dashed.

Dobby left quickly, not really caring where he wound up and not quite recognizing the place when he first got there. He had to find someone, tell them what was happening in Hogwarts, but as far as he'd seen so far, the only people left inside were Dark Wizards and house-elves. He could try to fight back, or leave the castle and tell someone what was going on, but no matter what he did he would be putting the other house-elves in danger, which wasn't a thought he could allow and, in his terrified state, he fell back on old habits and began to punish himself for it.

He meandered up the hall, banging his head against the wall as he went, until he heard his name, looked up and saw the most beautiful sight he could ever have imagined: Harry Potter.

"Harry Potter, sir," Dobby said, his voice especially squeaky with relief. Suddenly, he found everything he'd seen that night tumbling out of him. "Dobby has been watching the Death Eaters, and he has seen that a terrible plot is afoot…"

But he found himself unable to continue, to say any more would have put the other house-elves in danger.

"What kind of plot, Dobby?" Harry Potter pressed, but Dobby kept his mouth shut tight. "Did Mr. Malfoy order you not to tell us? He's not your master anymore; you don't have to listen to him."

Dobby shook his head. Harry Potter didn't understand.

"Did the Death Eaters do something else, then? Did they threaten to do something to the other house-elves if you told us?"

Surprised that Harry Potter had guessed his conundrum so easily, Dobby stared straight at the wizard, eyes wide.

"I can't promise to protect you and the other house-elves," Harry admitted, and Dobby felt a great sinking in his stomach. "But you all have much more power than you tend to use. Why don't you try telling the others that McGonagall gave them permission to defend themselves."

Dobby stared at him. That would mean lying to the other elves, but if it saved them, if Harry Potter suggested it, then it must be alright. He nodded.

"Great," Harry replied. "If you know, it would really help us if you can just point us in the direction of Voldemort."

Dobby paused, then made up his mind, looked around the hallway and finally got his bearings, then pointed in the direction of a passageway that would lead them to a place on the second floor very near a stairway to the Charms corridor. Harry nodded his thanks and Dobby walked away in the direction of the kitchens, still occasionally throwing his head against the wall.

It was amazing. Not half an hour ago the thing Dobby had wanted most in the world was orders. Now he had them but wished he didn't. Harry had given Dobby his solution, but it wouldn't be nearly so simple to implement it. He needed time to think but had none, he needed the respect of the other elves but had not time to earn it, the only thing he had time to do was act, and fast.

Dobby had never sent the kitchen in such a state before, not even when they'd had to prepare that magnificent and huge meal for the Yule Ball. It seemed that many of the elves had set out on their cleaning duties and returned with similar stories to Dobby's only with no idea what to do. Reports were being shouted back and forth, tales of terrible wizards in dark robes, Aurors and teachers fighting, students cowering in their dormitories. Even the normally unflappable Mirri looked overwhelmed, and it was obvious that Dobby alone had any idea what to do.

"I is seeing Mistress McGonagall!" Dobby said impulsively, shouting to be heard over the din, though only those closest to him seemed to notice. Three more tries it took before the rest of the kitchen grew silent and every eye fell on him.

"I is seeing Mistress McGonagall, and she…and she is telling me that we must be helping the students to escape the castle. She is also telling me that we must use our magic if we are needing to defend ourselves, but they is much stronger than us, and she is not wanting us to be getting hurt. Also…some of us must be visiting the Come and Go room, because bad things is happening there and the good wizards is too busy to stop it."

A brief pause followed this speech until, finally, Mirri asked, "Mistress McGonagall is telling you all of that?"

"You is not seeing her?" Dobby replied in an inelegant dodge of the original question.

Mirri did not reply, nor did she demand an answer to her own question, she simply turned and addressed the group at large.

"We will be taking the students to Hogsmeade and sending them to Saint Mungo's with floo powder. We will break into shops for their fireplaces and steal floo powder if we need to."

She then assigned three elves to each House, five and Dobby to the Come and Go room, and the rest to search the school for any remaining students or teachers who need help.

At Dobby's urging, those destined for the Come and Go room left with hardly a moment's delay. It had been more than an hour since he encountered Lucius Malfoy, and if the terrible things he'd been working on weren't finished yet, then they were probably very nearly complete.

Dobby had been expecting a rather violent reunion when he returned, so what actually happened when he and the other elves entered the Come and Go room was somewhat anticlimactic. Malfoy looked up when they appeared and watched as the other Death Eater present dropped to the floor at the snap of Dobby's fingers, but instead of carrying out his threat, Malfoy simply stared at them, actually looking a bit afraid. Dobby snapped his fingers and Malfoy collapsed as well.

"Go and help the others!" Dobby ordered the other elves, who all left at once.

Dobby, however, stayed behind, suddenly worried about whatever it was that Malfoy had been working on. If he stood on his toes, Dobby could just see a model of Hogwarts surrounded by many colors of bands of light. Dobby hoped that hopping up on the table for a closer look would help, but his increases in elevation and proximity did not give him any answers. Dobby was a house-elf, he'd never been to school, he'd learned to cook and clean and that had been the extent of it. These lights and what they meant were quite beyond him. Not quite sure what he thought he would accomplish, Dobby cautiously reached out for the nearest beam of light. The moment his hand passed through it, there was a sudden flash and the lights changed: some glowed brighter, some dimmed, some appeared where they hadn't been before and some disappeared entirely. Dobby pulled his hand back immediately and jumped off the table, but it seemed that the damage was done. Supposing that he couldn't make things any worse, Dobby climbed back on the table and reached out again, but this time the lights remained as they were and he began to wonder if Malfoy had changed these lights and Dobby had somehow set them to rights. Resolving to tell the first witch or wizard he saw about this, Dobby turned and left.

He elected to take the long way back to the kitchens, but Dobby's journey was largely uneventful all the same. Winky was still asleep in her bunk, exactly as he'd left her, so Dobby gathered her up and transported both of them to the lobby of Saint Mungo's.

It was utter chaos when they arrived and it was all Dobby could do to keep from being stepped on by one of the hundreds of feet around them. Eventually, though, he found the edge of the crow and a witch in Healer's robes pointed him in the direction of the room where the House Elves had been sent. When Dobby located it and opened the door he was accosted almost immediately by Mirri.

"You is a very bad elf, Dobby."

Dobby winced and lowered Winky to the floor, supposing that he should have known this would happen eventually.

"You was not seeing Mistress McGonagall. You was lying to us."

Dobby wasn't quite sure what to say, but all the elves were looking at him now.

"I is sorry?" he offered uncertainly.

"You should not be apologizing," Mirri replied, catching Dobby off guard, "because Mistress McGonagall is thanking you. She was saying that she should have been thinking of asking for our help herself."

"Oh," Dobby replied, not sure what else to say.

"But you should not be lying to us," Mirri continued.

"You would not have been listening to me if I hadn't been lying," Dobby pointed out, finally finding his tongue.

Now it was Mirri's turn to not know what to say.

"Then you should not be lying again," she said. "We will be remembering to listen to you, now."

"Then maybe we should be asking the Healers if they is needing any help," Dobby suggested.

Mirri nodded and they set to work.


	13. The Story of the Dark Lord

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Also, this is the second to last chapter, figured you would probably like some warning. Thanks for all the reviews.

**Chapter 13: The Story of the Dark Lord**

"There is a scourge in our world, an atrocity. Vermin, walking our streets in a plague that has been worsening for centuries."

So many had answered the summons, gathered here to listen and, though they didn't know it yet, to act.

"The traitors who call themselves leaders have done nothing to curtail this infestation. Indeed, there are many who would say they've encouraged it."

Voldemort knew how his ranks had swelled in recent months, but even he couldn't truly comprehend their numbers until he saw them all, stretched out before him, soaking in his every word.

"Ever since the time of the great Salazar Slytherin came to an end, Mudbloods have been invading our world, contaminating our culture and dirtying our bloodlines."

They were growing properly irritated now, Voldemort could taste it, and he could see it.

"No more!"

The Death Eaters raised a sudden cheer, wild, almost feral as they fed upon each other's anticipation. Ordinarily the Dark Lord would have frowned upon such a lack of restraint, but now it was precisely what he wanted.

"Two long weeks we've waited, biding our time."

Anger was filtering into the anticipation now.

"We've been waiting for those who think of themselves as the side of the light to grow complacent."

Fury.

"Our patience is about to be rewarded. They think we've given up and moved on. They think we're cowards. I think they're fools."

There were no cheers this time, no curses, no sounds. Voldemort had his Death Eaters' attention, now it was time for his plan.

"My sources tell me that the students of Hogwarts have been allowed to visit the village of Hogsmeade today. The wards protecting Hogwarts, protecting Potter, have been weakened."

A few low murmurs broke out at Potter's name, but Voldemort ignored them.

"We will enter Hogsmeade while the town is distracted by Dementors and enter the school by several paths. That is all."

With one last look at his cheering minions, Voldemort swept out of the chamber. Rabastan and Rodolphus followed him while Bellatrix remained behind to give the Death Eaters their assignments.

"That was an effective speech, my Lord," Rodolphus said as soon as the door to their side room had closed.

"The others will be only too willing to do your bidding now," Rabastan agreed.

"Soon children will be required to recite it at Hogwarts," Rodolphus continued eagerly.

"That will do," Voldemort said, raising his hand at Rabastan, who seemed to be on the verge of attempting to upstage his brother's compliment.

Voldemort turned away from them. Had the room contained a window he would have gone to it, but they were underground so he settled for staring sightlessly at the door instead. Overzealous as they were, Rabastan and Rodolphus were fortunate enough to recognize when their master didn't want to be disturbed.

"What do you think of Potter?" Voldemort asked after a long moment of silence.

One of them, Rabastan, began to speak but stopped himself. After a pause, Rodolphus said, "He is a child, my Lord."

Voldemort spun around angrily. He knew what they were trying not to say.

"That was not my question."

Rodolphus and Rabastan glanced at each other hesitantly.

"He is lucky," Rabastan said after taking a very pronounced moment to think, "but you are strong. There is no doubt that you will overcome him in the end."

Voldemort leaned very close to Rabastan, who knew better than to back away. 

"That is also not what I asked."

He looked into Rabastan's eyes and saw something else there, a question.

"You're curious about my fascination with the Potter boy."

"My Lord, I would never presume to-"

"Do not attempt to lie to me," Voldemort snapped. "I know you wonder, you all do. And why shouldn't you?" he added, turning away again. "Why does that little boy concern me so? Four times we've met and in each he's come out alive, and from some I've only narrowly survived. Why am I so eager to make it a fifth?"

Voldemort spun around, catching Rabastan and Rodolphus before they were quite able to mask their interested expressions.

"Why indeed," Voldemort mused, looking away again. "Surely this goes beyond simple revenge against the one living person who's defied me personally and survived, even considering that he's done it four times."

Rabastan and Rodolphus had given up trying to control their eager looks.

"What I am about to tell you, very few other Death Eaters know," Voldemort began. He didn't quite know why he wanted to tell these two the piece of information that he'd been keeping secret for years. Perhaps he was growing nostalgic, now that the end was so near. "It was a Seer who started it, an unremarkable one you might have even met, who happened to overhear the future at the right moment to be overheard herself. 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches,' she said, then described the parents and birth date of Harry Potter. Can you see now why this child interests me so? For he is the one person who can undo all that we have worked to accomplish. But there is something he does not know: that he can die and I cannot, not forever."

Rodolphus and Rabastan did not respond right away. Surely that information had come as a shock to them; it had to him, though he would never admit it.

"Do you understand now why I must kill Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked.

Rodolphus and Rabastan nodded vigorously.

"Yes, Master."

"Of course, my lord."

"Then look here," Voldemort commanded, setting himself on the lone chair in the sparsely populated room. Scattered on the table before him were hand drawn maps of Hogsmeade, Hogwarts' grounds, and every level of the castle itself. On them were marked the many ways he'd arranged for his Death Eaters to enter the castle and some of what he intended them to do there.

Voldemort pulled the map of Hogsmeade Station to the top of the pile. A mark indicated where he intended some of his less favored Death Eaters to begin their swim across the lake. Rodolphus and Rabastan regarded the mark with anxious looks, but Voldemort pointed instead to a place a short distance away from Hogsmeade Station.

"We will Apparate here. There is an entrance to a secret passage nearby that I would like to investigate."

Rodolphus and Rabastan leaned forward to memorize the location then Disapparated. Voldemort stood and followed.

It was raining where they arrived, but instead of growing angry at this development, Voldemort thought it fitting, all the better to wash away a world full of Mudbloods. Rodolphus and Rabastan seemed not to share this opinion, they were looking at Voldemort with as much impatience as they dared, waiting for him to reveal his secret passage. The Dark Lord elected to oblige them in his own time.

"This way," he beckoned after taking a few moments to enjoy the rain.

It had been fifty years since he last used this route, but it was just as he remembered. He found the stone cover plate with ease and lifted it aside with a flick of his wand then slipped inside, followed by Rabastan and Rodolphus.

The tunnel was stone and spacious as could be expected, but the frequent rain of the past year had left a stagnant river of foul water that they had to wade through. Once, Rabastan slipped and fell, cursing and sputtering, to the floor. Voldemort allowed himself a laugh at the other man's expense.

After some ten minutes of walking, Voldemort came to a stop, but Rabastan and Rodolphus carried on, apparently unaware that they'd reached a fork. Voldemort was unsurprised; the other passage was well hidden. Presently, the pair realized that their master wasn't with them and returned. Their way was faster, but through the door was a place that Voldemort very much wanted to see again, and now that he had the chance he wasn't about to let it slip him by.

"_Open_," he hissed in Parsletongue, caressing the tiny engraved snake on an otherwise unremarkable stretch of wall. The wall folded sideways on itself and the three men stepped through. Voldemort had to open five more similar walls in a labyrinth he'd solved years ago, that the Basilisk had once used to lure food into its lair. When he finished, they found themselves standing just outside an ornate door set with stone snakes that had glittering emeralds for eyes.

"This can't be…" Rabastan breathed.

"_Open_," Voldemort hissed in lieu of a response, and the last door guarding the Chamber of Secrets allowed them inside.

They were beset immediately by the overwhelming stench of death and decay, and even Voldemort, who had long since grown accustomed to the sight and smell of such things, had to work to force himself not to retreat from it. Ignoring the retching pair of wizards behind him, Voldemort stepped inside.

He hadn't visited the Chamber since he was sixteen, but coming here was more like going home than any place he'd visited in recent times. Still, as he progressed deeper into the Chamber, signs of its penetration became more and more pronounced until at last he came upon the tail of the once mighty Basilisk. He reached out to stroke the snake as he'd done all those years ago, but the skin cracked and flaked off and the muscle dissolved and slid off the broken skeleton. Drawing his hand away, Voldemort progressed up the length of the Basilisk, arriving at last at the head. This head had once been magnificent, with eyes that could kill with only a look and fangs more deadly than the most potent wizard made poison, but no more. The eyes were gone completely, leaving only empty sockets behind. One of the fangs had been broken off; the tip was lying a few meters away. Worst of all, a wide gaping wound cut straight through the snake's skull, and Voldemort could see that the brain, once so intelligent, had been consumed entirely by the animals who had taken up residence in the Chamber.

Voldemort had known what to expect, word of the events five years ago had filtered back to him, but to see the evidence stretched out before him filled him with an anger unlike any he had yet experienced. They'd accomplished something together, him and that snake. He'd begun his work of purging the world of Mudbloods. The Basilisk had made his first kill for him, he'd realized what it meant to be a descendent of Salazar Slytherin with the help of this snake, and now the Basilisk was dead.

"Who did this?" Rabastan asked, awestruck, when he and Rodolphus finally arrived. His voice was muffled because he was using his sleeve to cover his nose and mouth.

"You know who," Voldemort snapped, more emotionally than he'd intended. "This snake had lived for thousands of years. He remembered things even history books have forgotten, back to the times of the founders themselves. But Harry Potter saw fit to kill him.

"Can you see now why Harry Potter must be destroyed? Everywhere, wizards are forgetting that we are superior to Muggles in every way, but Harry does not even have the decency to forget, because he has never learned. He thinks me a tyrant, but it is he who is forcing his ways on the world. I only wish to continue the old ways."

Voldemort turned abruptly and strode away from the fallen Basilisk, the one being he'd ever considered a master, who he'd appreciated for his knowledge and skills and not simply as a way to get closer to his goal. Back at the gathering he'd convinced his Death Eaters that it was necessary to kill Harry Potter, now he'd convinced himself.

A beat late, Rabastan and Rodolphus came up on either side of him. The three of them made their way back out of the long chamber, past a large rockslide, and elevated themselves at last up through the pipes and out of the new useless Chamber of Secrets.

Rabastan was the first to enter the dingy girls' bathroom on the second floor, though Voldemort and Rodolphus were close behind him. They were about to leave when the ghost of a girl appeared from one of the stalls. It was a moment before Voldemort realized where he'd seen her.

"Hello," he said charmingly.

"Who are you?" she demanded crossly. "What are you doing here?"

"Just passing through," Voldemort replied. "But…have we met?"

"I think I'd remember," she said, surveying him.

"I'm sure we have," Voldemort prompted, loosing patience. She'd always been a bit dim. "Here at school? It would have been more than fifty years ago."

The ghost's demeanor changed almost immediately and Voldemort suspected why: he'd named a time before she'd died, and based on what he knew of Myrtle, any recognition would please her.

"Are you Myrtle?" Voldemort asked.

"Yes!" she laughed gleefully. "I didn't recognize you, what's your name?"

"I don't think you would know me by name," Voldemort explained. "At school I was called something different. Have you heard of Lord Voldemort?"

Myrtle's smile faded.

"You can't scare me," she said in a voice that indicated the exact opposite. "I'm already dead."

"I understand," Voldemort replied with the air of someone who couldn't care less. "Though it may interest you to know…"

Voldemort stepped closer to Myrtle.

"…I killed you."

Myrtle turned suddenly terrified and rushed away. A moment later there was a splash from one of the stalls.

"Shall we go?" Voldemort said, still watching Myrtle's cubicle with satisfaction. It wasn't a question and both Rabastan and Rodolphus knew better than to treat it like one.

Being nearest the door, Rodolphus slipped outside first, making sure the way was clear for his Master. Voldemort knew it was unnecessary but did not stop his follower. Voldemort was invulnerable and knew that the one person who stood even the slightest chance of harming him was not lying in wait outside. What Voldemort enjoyed about the situation was the visible proof that Rodolphus was loyal enough to risk his own life to protect his Master's. It was a rare quality among the Death Eaters. Most came with goals of their own, and only with pain and fear were those tempered.

When a few seconds passed with no indications of a fight, Voldemort and Rabastan joined Rodolphus in the hallway and for the first time in forty years laid eyes on the inside of Hogwarts as it was meant to be seen, not just the sad old Chamber or that moldy bathroom.

But there were differences too, Voldemort noted as they made their way to the third floor, where he would wait for someone to find Potter for him. Hogwarts had stood for a thousand years and its ancient tenants were very much set in their ways, but from time to time he would notice that two portraits had traded places, or an old suit of armor in a new place, or a rug he'd never seen before. It was like returning to a childhood home only to find that someone else had moved in.

He was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, Hogwarts should have been his by birthright, but the Muggle-loving fool Dumbledore had forced him away, refused to let him stay and teach. Abruptly, anger boiled up in Voldemort like magma, even more potent than when Nagini had been found, killed, burned, and mutilated. She was only a snake, and, more importantly, only one of his several Horcruxes, but his fury at being forced away from Hogwarts was almost too much to stand. Voldemort vowed, then, that Hogwarts would be his come morning, and he would return it to its former glory as Slytherin would have wanted.

"Rabastan," Voldemort said, pausing in front of an unfamiliar statue of a goblin.

"Yes, Lord?" Rabastan replied with more reverence than usual. He must have noticed his Master's anger.

"Have you ever read _Hogwarts: A History_?" Voldemort asked.

"No, Master," Rabastan replied, his voice now filled with hesitation.

"There are few who have," Voldemort said dismissively. "But then I suppose you wouldn't know that Salazar Slytherin dedicated most of his life, even after he left Hogwarts, to teaching others the importance of wizarding history."

"I was unaware," Rabastan said, and Voldemort could tell that his interest was forced, though he, Voldemort, didn't care.

"You must then believe the propaganda passed down by lesser historians," Voldemort continued, "such as Professor Binns, who will maintain that Slytherin was nothing more than a Mudblood hater."

"I wouldn't say I believed him," Rabastan faltered, looking fearful, but Voldemort carried on. It wasn't Rabastan's answers that interested him.

"I am one of the few here who has had the distinction of learning History of Magic from that old fool when he was still alive. One day in my fourth year he told the story of why Slytherin left the school. He must have been unaware of my lineage until then, because he alluded to the opinion that Hogwarts was better off without him. What a day that was. You ought to ask your father for the story sometime.

"Anyway, the whole business must have unsettled old Binns. He dropped dead not a week later. Oh, that was nothing to do with me," Voldemort added, noticing that Rabastan looked interested at last. "Though I sometimes wonder what might have happened if I had killed him. In either case, death wasn't enough to stop Binns spreading his lies. And I suppose you have noticed now that death was also not enough to keep me from spreading the truth."

"I have, Master," Rabastan said with renewed reverence.

"They call us Dark wizards, as though they are the light. They call our spells unforgivable but forgive themselves for using them. You call me the Dark Lord."

"Should we not, Master?" Rabastan asked uncertainly.

"Of course you should," Voldemort replied. "It is a fitting title, for if they think they are the light then I must be the opposite. They forget their history, than every time Muggles grow suspicious that magic exists they begin to hunt us. So, like fools, they invite Mudbloods into Hogwarts and therefore reveal magic to more Muggles. It is our task to stop this pattern before it is too late, and preserve the Magical world for pure-bloods.

"Incidentally," Voldemort continued. Their conversation had taken them to the third floor and Voldemort led them now into a classroom. It had been empty during his time at Hogwarts, but seemed to house Charms classes now. "Rodolphus, have you spoken to your wife recently?" 

"Not since this morning," Rodolphus replied carefully. He seemed to think he knew where this line of inquiry would lead, but Voldemort was about to surprise him.

"Did she happen to mention the special task I gave her?" Voldemort asked. He could sense another presence in the room and he glanced around looking for it, but just as he thought he was growing close there was a sharp pop and it disappeared. It must have been a house-elf, which was of little concern to Voldemort. He was much more interested in another individual he could sense.

"She did," Rodolphus responded. "She seemed quite eager."

"Did she also mention any intention not to carry it out?" Voldemort interrupted.

"No, Master," Rodolphus said, looking worried, but Voldemort could see that he was telling the truth. "Do you mean-"

"Severus Snape is alive," Voldemort hissed, then, checking his anger, he continued. "Which is a strange thing, for I instructed Bellatrix to kill him before our little gathering, and when I saw her she gave no indication that anything had gone awry."

"Perhaps she made a mistake," Rodolphus offered hastily.

"But I must question the worth of a Death Eater who cannot even perform a simple killing curse," Voldemort snapped, "to say nothing of one who forgets to tell her master when she fails to carry out a task."

"I'm certain she would have told you if she hadn't thought Snape was dead," Rodolphus replied.

"Perhaps I ought to give her a lesson in the killing curse," Voldemort hissed. "Though, I suppose by the time I'm finished it would be quite lost on her."

"She would not betray you knowingly!" Rodolphus pleaded.

"Touching," Voldemort replied. "But then how is Severus Snape in this castle, approaching this very room?"

"I don't know, Master."

"Crucio."

Rodolphus fell immediately to the floor, screaming in pain, but torturing him wasn't nearly as satisfying as doing the same to Bellatrix, but, since she wasn't available, Rodolphus was close enough.

A minute later, Voldemort released the spell.

"Come Rabastan, we have a traitor to kill. Rodolphus, when you're ready."

Voldemort found Snape easily, so easily, in fact, that he began to wonder if the traitor was trying to put on one last noble act by luring the Dark Lord toward him.

"Severus Snape," Voldemort said coolly when he intersected the other's path.

"Master," Snape replied, and abruptly Voldemort could sense nothing from his mind at all, not even the careful truths Snape was usually so diligent in preparing for their encounters.

"I was not expecting to see you here," Voldemort continued. "To risk Hogwarts after you made so many enemies here."

"I knew you would need as much help as possible to take the castle," Snape replied.

Voldemort laughed. Could Snape possibly be hoping to continue the act? Did he suspect that Bellatrix might have been acting alone?

"Loyalty for loyalty's sake. An uncommon trait among my followers, I could get used to it, but not from you."

"Master?" Snape asked, but Voldemort could feel his desperation now.

"You have betrayed me."

"No Master," Snape replied, but he was looking away.

"Do not think I cannot tell you are lying. It does not matter how accomplished you think you are at Occlumens, the Dark Lord always knows."

"I assure you Master," Snape said, there was resignation in his voice now.

"And yet you persist in feeding me lies," Voldemort continued. "I know your loyalty has been to Dumbledore since before my powers broke at the hands of that Potter. I know you have been passing information to the Order of the Phoenix for the past three years while still maintaining the illusion of servility to me. But I have been feeding you lies as well."

Snape faltered, and Voldemort sensed sudden understanding in him.

"Don't look so surprised. Why shouldn't I have pressed my advantage? You have been giving false information to the Order all this time. Why else would everyone assure you that we were staying in Albania if we were about to attack here?"

"You will not succeed," Snape replied unexpectedly. "The Order will stop you."

"I doubt it," Voldemort said. "But I suppose I must wait and see. You, however, will not be given that pleasure. Your usefulness has run out, and you will now greet the same fate that meets all who betray me. Avada Kedavra!"

Snape slumped to the floor, dead.

Voldemort hadn't realized how good it would fell to watch Snape die, to know that the constant complication to his plans would trouble him no more. Had he anticipated that, he might never have ordered Bellatrix to kill him, though that wasn't enough to dispel his anger with her.

His encounter with Snape had another effect. As Voldemort stalked away from the scene, he came to realize just how much time had passed. His Death Eaters had been in Hogwarts for several hours now, and still Potter eluded them. It seemed that the time had come for more direct action.

"Rabastan, ah! Rodolphus, feeling better, I see," Voldemort began. "I wish to lure Potter into a trap. Gather everyone who can be spared from fighting and organize them into an ambush one floor down and three hallways to the west of where we are standing. Remember, though, Potter is not to be harmed."

"How do you intend to convince Potter to come?" Rabastan asked.

"I plan to present him with the thing he fears most," Voldemort replied after a pause. He'd nearly snapped at Rabastan, told him that he already knew all of the plan that concerned him, but then Voldemort realized that he was actually a bit eager to explain the rest.

"You, my Lord?" Rabastan asked flatteringly. He seemed to realized how close to punishment he'd just come.

"No," Voldemort replied, and when Rabastan failed to come up with another suggestion he continued. "You ought to listen to your nephew-in-law more often. Pathetic though Draco may be, he has his occasional uses. For example, just before he disappeared, he revealed that Potter had taken up with the lone Weasley daughter. I have never met this child, but, quite by chance, she is very familiar with me. That story you will know, it led to the second opening of the Chamber of Secrets. I believe I can use that connection to my advantage."

"Do you really think Potter will believe another false vision?" Rabastan pointed out, cringing.

"I do not," Voldemort spat. "This will be no image; I intend to capture Ginny Weasley."

However, Voldemort soon discovered that locating the Weasley girl was not as simple as he'd imagined. He'd learned the location of the Gryffindor Common Room while he was at Hogwarts as a student, but now that he'd left Rabastan and Rodolphus behind he could hardly expect to journey there unchallenged. His Horcruxes would prevent him from dying, but he couldn't put an end to Potter if he was maimed or torn from his body before they met.

It was for this reason that Voldemort's backup plan became the one he used. He traveled back to the empty Charms classroom, closed the door and stretched out his mind. Gradually, he became aware of every person in the castle. Stray thoughts and emotions wandered through his mind: the terror of the students, the anxiety of the Order, the confidence of the Death Eaters. Voldemort sifted through them all, searching for her, but found Potter first, drawn there by the cursed link between them. His curiosity kept him there long enough to feel Potter's determination, but then he forced himself to move on. Potter would have a chance to test his determination soon enough. Finally, he found his quarry. Weasley's mind was marked, it had a familiar residue.

Patiently, Voldemort shifted his focus, until, if he looked hard enough, he could almost see through Weasley's eyes, and what he saw was most displeasing: she was attempting to fight a group of seven Death Eaters, practically by herself. Voldemort scowled at his empty room. Ordinarily he would appreciate his Death Eaters' enthusiasm, but this time it was about to ruin his plan, then suddenly, it wasn't.

Though he was certain that the Weasley girl hadn't noticed his intrusion into her mind, Voldemort sensed a sudden changer in her, and, abruptly, her position in the battle shifted. Voldemort didn't understand why until he recognized a tactic she used that he'd invented and never told anyone. Somehow, she was fighting her battle, but drawing on his experience. Startled and even a bit frightened at this development, Voldemort immediately broke the connection. This was the girl the memory of his sixteen year old self had enchanted so easily, surely she could not have grown this powerful in only five years, but then how had she broken into his mind as easily as he'd infiltrated hers?

Voldemort retreated from the Charms classroom and turned just in time to see Avery rush up to him.

"My Lord!" the Death Eater exclaimed. "We have him!"

"Take me to him," Voldemort commanded immediately. There was no need to ask about whom Avery was referring.

Avery led him downstairs to where their trap had been set, and Voldemort nearly laughed aloud. It hadn't mattered whether or not he captured the Weasley daughter: Potter had fallen into their trap of his own accord. And there he was, unconscious on the floor, bound hand and foot and entirely helpless. A red haired boy was lying beside him, likely one of the hampering tagalongs his Death Eaters had described from their encounters with Potter.

"I will be taking Potter down to the dungeons," Voldemort told Avery and the other Death Eaters present. "I do not wish to be disturbed. Do what you like with the other boy, tie him up, kill him, he does not matter. When you have finished with that, ensure that no one from the Order of the Phoenix remains to take the castle, then leave Hogwarts. I will send for you when our victory is assured."

"Master?" Avery asked uncertainly.

"I do not wish to be disturbed," Voldemort repeated harshly, though he was now feeling strangely buoyant. Potter was lying helpless at his feet, the Order was about to be driven out of Hogwarts for good, and, to cap it all, he'd just realized that the strategy he'd seen the young Weasley use, the one that had so disturbed him, he'd developed when he was fifteen, she hadn't learned it from his mind at all, but from his diary.

Without allowing the others a chance to respond, Voldemort picked up Harry's wand from where it had fallen, pocketed it, lifted the boy into the air with a wave of his wand, and made his way down the nearest staircase.

He met no resistance as they descended, only an occasional Death Eater, all of whom turned immediately excited when they recognized Potter. The Order must have been in poor shape indeed if they couldn't spare even a single member to check on their champion.

They arrived finally at the deepest and darkest dungeon in Voldemort's memory. Voldemort deposited Harry against a wall and took his own corner to wait. He intended to leave nothing to chance this time, but killing Harry when he was already unconscious would give Voldemort no pleasure at all: he wanted Harry to know he was about to die, that it was his nemesis who'd won.

However, when an hour passed with no sign of life from Harry, Voldemort began to rethink that policy, and to consider waking him up with magical means. However, before Voldemort had quite made up his mind, Harry began to stir.

"So nice of you to join me," Voldemort said, keeping to the shadows.

"Voldemort!" Harry cried. The Dark Lord heard him struggle against his bonds, then give up. Glee unlike anything Voldemort had ever experienced bubbled up inside him.

"We really must stop meeting like this," Voldemort continued ironically. "I'll have to see what I can do about it."

"If you're going to kill me at least make a proper duel of it," Harry said desperately, grasping for any advantage. "Only a coward would kill someone who can't fight ba-"

Voldemort didn't bother waiting for him to finish. With an almost lazy flick of his wand, Voldemort cast his very latest invention, a spell that would kill Harry, slowly and painfully. But the scream that met Voldemort's ears was not Harry's. The red light of the spell faded quickly, but it was enough for Voldemort to recognize the tall red haired boy who'd been captured along with Harry. He'd jumped in the way of the spell and was now writhing in pain on the ground.

Harry squirmed toward the other boy as quickly as his bound limbs would allow, picked up the wand, and undid his restraints and Voldemort did nothing to stop him. Another idea had occurred to him, better even than his plan to wait for the teachers to allow the students to visit Hogsmeade. Voldemort didn't speak, but couldn't resist the urge to laugh as he crossed the room and entered the next chamber over, blinking slightly at the sudden light.

Voldemort decided to give Harry a minute to follow. If he hadn't decided that his friend was beyond hope by then, then he wouldn't realize it until it was too late. Thirty seconds later, Harry appeared in the doorway, the red head's screams echoing tantalizingly into the chamber.

"We don't have to do this," Harry attempted feebly, and Voldemort began laughing anew. If he was trying to reason his way out of this then he had already given up. "If we both just walk away right now neither of us would have to die. We could agree never to see each other again. This doesn't have to happen."

"The Seer said, 'Neither may live while the other survives,'" Voldemort countered. "Seers can't lie while in a trance."

"But they can't see everything either," Harry replied. "That Seer saw one possibility out of trillions of futures. We still have a choice."

"You have proven yourself to be a threat to me," Voldemort responded truthfully. "I cannot allow you to live."

"Excellent," Harry replied unexpectedly, and Voldemort took it as an invitation.

Harry blocked Voldemort's first spell with a shield, their next curses collided in midair and ricocheted off each other.

"You got a new wand," Voldemort hissed, suddenly noticing that Harry was dueling quite proficiently despite using his friend's wand.

"Yeah, well, you took mine," Harry replied. "This one's on loan."

So Harry still thought his friend could live. He was in for a rude shock, assuming he wasn't the one to die first.

They began dueling in earnest. Voldemort started off toying with his opponent, but soon abandoned that tactic. It had been some years since he and Potter had met wand to wand, and the boy had improved much more than the Dark Lord had expected he could have in that time. Eventually, though, Voldemort gained the upper hand and struck Harry with the Cruciatus Curse.

Harry crumpled to the ground, screaming in agony, but then, somehow, not five seconds later, stopped and stood. Voldemort hesitated. He hadn't released the spell, Potter had fought it off.

Harry cast two spells as quickly as he could and Voldemort recognized a hex and a charm, but the second caught up with the first and they flew off course. Voldemort was about to take advantage of Harry's distraction and try the Cruciatus Curse again, but then he felt something hot strike him in the back and a moment later his skin was covered in flakes.

Voldemort paused in spite of himself. That was the hex that Harry had cast a moment ago, but how could it have struck Voldemort in the back? However, Harry either seemed to know, or didn't care, because in the moment Voldemort's attention was elsewhere, Harry struck as hard and fast as he could.

Faster than Voldemort could think, he'd been hit with more curses, hexes, and jinxes than he could possibly hope to counter in time. His legs collapsed beneath him and he fell to the ground, but Harry was still advancing, a mad glint in his eyes. Voldemort knew what was coming, but he knew something Harry didn't, he couldn't die, his Horcruxes ensured that. It might take him years to come back, but when he did Harry would regret his actions that night.

"Avada Kedavra!"

But something was wrong, even in the split second between when the spell was cast and when it struck Voldemort could sense it. This was different than last time, when the curse rebounded; there was no anchoring force, nothing keeping him tied to the Earth. Surely his Horcruxes hadn't been discovered and destroyed, there were too many and they were too well hidden. This wouldn't be the end of Voldemort.

Then the green light met him, and there was nothing. Voldemort was nothing.


	14. Interlude with a Blood Traitor

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Alright, I lied, there's fifteen chapters to this story. In my defense, though, when I said there would be fourteen I hadn't planned on this one, and it's pretty short, so maybe it doesn't count. Anyway, I realized I had a gaping plot hole. This clears that up. Enjoy.

**Chapter 14: Interlude with a Blood Traitor**

"Hello."

The voice was quiet. Ron was surprised he could hear it over the fuzz in his brain and the familiar tickle that meant he'd just been stunned and reawakened.

"Who are you?" Ron asked groggily, struggling to open his eyes. The last thing he remembered was running down a hallway with Harry, looking for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. They had been attacked by wizards with stunning spells, too many to count and too fast to dodge.

"It's funny that we should meet like this."

"Who are you?" Ron demanded, much more forcefully this time.

"Don't you recognize me," the other person replied, and Ron finally forced his eyes open. Squinting into the bright light, he saw a Death Eater, Avery, sitting against the wall across from him in a small room. Even more troubling, though, was the fact that Harry was nowhere to be seen. Ron was certain that they'd been together when they were ambushed. They must have been separated while they were unconscious.

"What do you want with me?" Ron asked, purposefully avoiding Avery's question. He'd noticed that Death Eaters don't like to be ignored, but it was really Harry who was good at this sort of thing, bantering with their enemies.

Avery blinked, and, surprisingly, allowed himself to be forced to his point.

"I want to know why you Weasleys became blood traitors."

"You what?" Ron asked blankly, sitting up. He wasn't restrained, but his wand was gone.

"Your bloodline goes back as far as anyone's," Avery continued. "The Dark Lord would have welcomed your family into his ranks. You could have gotten a share in his power. Why did you choose to fight him?"

"I dunno," Ron muttered. "I guess we're just not as fond of killing as the rest of you." The very idea that he was sitting there, having this conversation while a war was being waged right outside, while Harry was in danger and Hermione was missing, was ludicrous.

"The Dark Lord instructed me to kill you," Avery replied. "I am risking his displeasure by talking to you. Tell me what I want to know."

"Why do you care?" Ron retorted. "Do you think that if you learn the reason why one family resists You-Know-Who it will help you convert the rest of England?"

"My Master is in one of the dungeons, about to kill your friend," Avery replied. "The Dark Lord thinks this will make him unstoppable. I want to know what we will lose when he succeeds."

Ron tried to speak, choked, and swallowed, heart pounding after hearing the danger Harry was in.

"Nothing you'd care about," Ron muttered when he'd finally found his voice again.

"Tell me or I'll kill you," Avery shouted.

"Sounds like I'm dead anyway," Ron shouted back, realizing that he no longer cared about angering the Death Eater. "We don't think of ourselves as blood traitors. You do."

"There must be a reason," Avery demanded.

"There's not just one reason," Ron exclaimed. "My…my brother got married last summer. When's the last time you had a wedding among your Death Eater friends, if you even call each other your friends.

"Alright, that's what you'd lose," Ron continued angrily, gaining speed, "spending time with people because you want to, not because you want something from them. Even when you're having the most horrible time of your life, it's still alright, because you're enjoying each other's company. I guess that's my reason. I don't know if it's anyone else's."

Avery seemed to ponder this for a moment, then he got to his feet and reached into his pocket. Ron flinched, but when no spell struck him he looked up. Avery was holding out a wand, handle first. It was Ron's wand. Ron eyed the Death Eater warily, but when he made no move, Ron reached out and grabbed his wand.

"Go help your friend," Avery said, helping Ron to his feet.

"What?" Ron stammered, staring at his wand as though it couldn't possibly be real.

"Before it's too late," Avery urged.

"But…"

"I have reasons too, now go," Avery commanded, finally shoving Ron out the door.

Ron allowed himself to be forced away and hurried off, gaining speed as he realized that he wasn't being followed and he had to get to Harry as quickly as possible. Avery had mentioned dungeons, so Ron ran there. Ron searched as quickly as he could for any sign of Harry. He was running out of places to look and growing desperate when, at last, he found him.

The light in the room was dim, but just enough to see that Harry was lying in the corner nearest to Ron, bound hand and foot, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was standing opposite him, wand raised. Then, Voldemort struck.

Ron didn't stop to think, or consider what he was about to do. He just ran and jumped and the spell hit him instead of Harry. The next thing he knew was pain, and then nothing. And that was all he could remember.


	15. The Story of the Chosen One

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Well, here it is, the last chapter, just in time unless you like in Australia or somewhere. I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. I'd live to give a special thanks to cherrycool, ESP, fanficfan1037, Morridin, prongette, ProperT, razzledazzle41191, Supercushion, and ????????????? for all your kind reviews. Here goes, once more through the looking glass.

**Chapter 15: The Story of the Chosen One**

Not for the first time in recent weeks, Harry found himself wondering what, precisely, had possessed him to take his N.E.W.T.s. They'd only decided to three weeks ago, when they'd destroyed the last of Voldemort's Horcruxes but found Voldemort himself to be quite elusive. Hermione had made an off hand suggestion about returning to Hogwarts until they discovered a lead, and idly slipped in the idea that they could take their N.E.W.T.s while they were at it. The thought had sounded laughable at first. Students usually spent years studying for their N.E.W.T.s, and, having neglected their studies over the past year for more important things, they had only a week. But, still, somehow, the idea had gotten stuck in Harry's head, and the next morning a surprisingly optimistic view had occurred to him: they couldn't fight Voldemort forever.

Maybe it was the fact that all the Horcruxes had been destroyed, but Harry couldn't help but feel that the end, whatever it was, was in sight. He knew that Ron and Hermione would stay with him until the end, but the fact remained that Voldemort was not bent on killing them. Their chances of getting out alive were much better than Harry's, and if he could give them a chance at having a normal future, like they deserved, then surely he could sit the N.E.W.T.s for their sake.

Of course, that had been three weeks and five grueling tests ago, before Harry, Hermione, and an unconvinced but outvoted Ron had returned to Hogwarts and taken to spending all hours of the day and night either in the library studying or the Great Hall taking exams. Now, if Harry could have gotten access to a Time Turner, he would gladly have gone back in time to slap some sense into his former self.

The N.E.W.T.s had been long and difficult, and Harry could scarcely remember ever feeling so exhausted, though he supposed that just because he couldn't remember something at the moment didn't mean it hadn't happened. He'd nearly forgotten to put on his shoes that morning.

Still, the N.E.W.T.s were over, which was something, at least. Harry was in Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione, and though he knew they were standing outside of the Three Broomsticks, he'd been reading so much recently that he simply couldn't make sense out of the sign. When Harry had pointed out the phenomenon to Ron on their way inside for lunch, Ron had revealed that he was suffering the same effects, and they'd had quite a laugh over it. Hermione hadn't said anything, but judging by the way she kept avoiding anything that would require reading, she had similar symptoms and didn't find them nearly so amusing.

They'd spent an uncommonly good morning on an amazingly sunny Saturday exploring all the old places they used to visit in Hogsmeade. It was strange. Though Harry had left his sixth year never intending to return to school, the fact that he would not be coming back had never struck him so forcefully before he finished his N.E.W.T.s, and he knew that he'd miss it.

"Listen," Harry said to Ron and Hermione before he quite realized he'd made up his mind. They were gazing off in opposite directions, apparently looking for their next place to visit, but they were standing rather close together, just like they had been all day. "Why don't you two spend the rest of the day without me."

"What? Why?" Hermione stammered, but she edged half an inch away from Ron as she spoke. She knew why.

"We don't get days like this very often," Harry responded nevertheless. "You should enjoy it." In the way they couldn't, or wouldn't, when he was around, Harry refrained from saying.

"Are you sure, mate?" Ron asked. He knew why Harry had asked as well, but wasn't quite so adept at masking his enthusiasm for the idea.

"Yeah," Harry said. "You don't get much time to just…just spend with each other."

"Thanks Harry," Hermione agreed. She sounded reluctant, but her gratitude was unmistakable. "Let's meet back up at Zonko's in three hours and walk back to Hogwarts together, shall we?"

"Alright," Harry said, turning to go. He looked back a moment later and saw Ron and Hermione wandering off the other way, hand in hand.

Harry grinned and shook his head. They were always so careful not to act on their feelings for each other around him, but they really needn't have bothered. Harry knew what it was like, he understood, even if he couldn't have that himself.

Unfortunately, parting ways with Ron and Hermione left Harry without a way to spend his afternoon, and his commitment to meeting them at Zonko's later prevented him from simply returning to Hogwarts. He wandered instead from shop to shop with no particular destination in mind. He spoke occasionally with the students he passed, but the conversations never lasted for long. They only seemed interested in where he'd been the past school year, and usually became disappointed or angry when he said he couldn't tell them. He nearly turned and started off in the opposite direction when he spotted Colin and Dennis Creevey coming out of a nearby shop, but wasn't quite fast enough.

"Alright Harry?" Colin asked. His tendency to hero worship Harry had been tempered by years of familiarity, but he still used this greeting, mostly, Harry suspected, as a joke about his first year.

"'Lo, Colin," Harry responded in his customary way.

"Nice to get to see Hogsmeade again, isn't it?" Colin said conversationally. "And the sun."

"Sure is," Harry agreed. In his year of searching for Horcruxes he'd seen enough of the constant rain to last him a lifetime.

"I suppose you wouldn't know, but we haven't been allowed out of the castle all year," Colin continued.

"I heard," Harry replied.

"I guess the teachers were all afraid that we'd be attacked if we left. I dunno why they changed their minds now, not that I'm complaining."

"Um hum," Harry muttered noncommittally. He knew why the students had been allowed to leave, that Voldemort seemed to have disappeared. He knew it better than most.

"Oh drat," Dennis cursed unexpectedly, and it took Harry a moment to realize why: the clouds were returning and they looked ready to pour. Their sunny day was up.

"What's that?" Colin asked, drawing Harry's attention back to Earth. He followed Colin's gaze and spotted a silver shape approaching, bright against the gathering gloom.

Harry drew his wand cautiously, but he recognized the figure long before it reached him. It was a cat, silver and ethereal, a patronus, and though Harry had never received such a signal before, he knew precisely what it meant.

"Don't go back to Hogwarts," Harry said, words catching in his throat.

"What?" Colin asked.

"Stay here, find a place to hide, just keep away from the castle!" Harry yelled, for he was already running.

Rain continued to fall, but Harry ignored it as he raced on, occasionally slipping on the puddles that were already forming in the waterlogged streets. Whenever he came upon a student he'd repeat his message, he headed off Lavender and Parvati that way, but he was only searching for two people. He was beginning to grow desperate by the time he found them.

"We can't go back," Harry panted, grabbing Ron and Hermione each by the arm.

"What?" Ron asked carefully.

"Can't go back where?" Hermione said, looking worried. "Harry, what's going on?"

"I saw a cat," Harry said shakily. It was as though he'd finally stopped running long enough for his terror to catch up with him. "Coming right at me…big cat…silver…patronus cat…McGonagall's patronus."

"Harry, slow down," Hermione said, but Harry couldn't slow down, this was too important, they had to understand.

"It was a warning…a warning to stay away…Hogwarts is being attacked, we can't go back."

Harry wasn't sure how he knew the situation with such certainty, all he'd seen was a patronus, but as he told them, he was sure it was the truth.

"But if there's Death Eaters in Hogwarts, then there must be some here," Hermione maintained.

"Dementors," Harry countered, the word out before he'd even thought about it.

"What? How do you know?" Ron asked, looking worried.

"Dementors," Harry repeated, not sure what else to say. Instead, he raised his hand and pointed at Hermione's hair, which had been growing wet from the rain, but was now becoming coated with ice."

"We can't stay here," Hermione said, raising a hand to her hair.

"Sirius' cave," Harry added. It was the first place he could think of.

"Run!" Ron agreed, and as though his shout was a starting gun, they all sprinted off. A few steps later they had all cast their patronuses, which followed them in a small herd. Harry could feel the Dementors attempting to chase them, hear the last shouts of his parents echoing weakly in his ears, but the Dementors could get no closer. The patronuses were sufficient.

Harry had been so desperate for a place to hide that he'd forgotten to consider just how far it was to Sirius' cave, but their chance to change destinations had already passed and they pressed on, making it across the town, up the rocky slope, and into the cave in record time.

Water from the rain had gathered in the floor of the cave, but they did nothing to dry it up. They hardly spoke at all, hardly breathed even, though they were all out of breath from their long run. Since they knew almost nothing about the situation, they couldn't risk making any noise at all. Already soaking wet, Harry slid down to the floor of the cave and Ron and Hermione settled themselves across from him. Harry knew they were pondering the same things as him.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Not here, not at Hogwarts, not after Voldemort had disappeared for two weeks, not when they were so very unprepared. Harry had meant to walk in to a battleground of his choosing, to have Voldemort be the one caught off guard, but Harry had waited too long.

A sudden movement from the other side of the cave caught Harry's attention and he looked up just in time to see Hermione give her wand a wave. A moment later the water had been cleared from the ground, the mouth of the cave sealed to prevent more from entering, and a small blue fire was burning merrily in front of them. Harry didn't have the heart to scold her for using magic. The heat from the fire was too inviting.

They sat in silence for a time, unable to think of anything to say, or, rather, how to say what they thought. Meanwhile, Harry battled with the desire to go and join in the fight and the impulse to stay where they were and wait it out, make Voldemort wait until next time, when Harry could choose his own terms. Occasionally, a bang sounded in the distance, one quite unlike the thunderclaps that they had been hearing all along.

Ron glanced at the small blue fire in the middle of the cave, then between Harry, Hermione, and the large bag of marshmallow like snacks he'd bought in Honeydukes, then back to Harry, and finally to his wand. If his companions noticed anything odd about his behavior, they didn't mention it, at least not until he pulled out a marshmallow, stuck it on the end of his wand, and made to thrust the sweet into the fire.

"Wait!"

"Stop!"

Before another second had elapsed, Hermione had grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm back and Harry had pulled out his own wand, apparently ready to extinguish the fire if Ron got any closer.

Ron, however, sat back, pulled the marshmallow off his wand, and burst into fits of laughter.

"Blimey, you two really are tense."

"Give us one reason why we shouldn't be," Harry muttered, with the air of someone who knew he had been tricked. However, it was exceedingly difficult to stay angry with Ron for long, especially after he located some real sticks and passed one of them and a handful of marshmallows to each of his friends.

They might have looked like the Muggle snack, but these marshmallows were clearly magic. They changed color depending on their temperature and expanded until they were approximately the size of a human head, at which point they would explode, covering everything in a sticky mess. This happened several times, until they mastered the timing.

Fifteen minutes later, Ron's supply of marshmallows had been depleted and they all felt rather sticky inside and out, despite Hermione's best cleaning spell. Less lasting was the happy feeling that their brief break from grim reality had given them.

Feeling he could wait no longer, Harry said, "I'm going back to Hogwarts. You don't need to come with me, this isn't your battle."

Ron and Hermione looked aghast.

"Not our battle!" Hermione demanded. "How did you decide that?"

"It just isn't," Harry sighed.

"You're going to have to do better than that, mate," Ron said. "It's not like we haven't fought Death Eaters before."

"This time it's different," Harry informed them cryptically. Surely they already knew that if Harry walked in to Hogwarts, it would force a conflict between him and Voldemort.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Harry," Hermione said, "but if you go in there we're coming too."

"Fine," Harry moaned. As much as he wanted to keep them from as much danger as he could, he was grateful for their help, even selfishly so. "But I want you to promise me something."

"What?" Ron asked.

"If I don't make it out, I want you to get out, take your parents and siblings," Harry explained. "Leave England, leave Europe, go anywhere just as long as it's far away, and be happy for awhile."

Neither seemed entirely certain of how to respond to that.

"Harry, if this is about that prophecy," Hermione started.

"So what if it is," Harry muttered.

"You told us Dumbledore said that it will only come true if you and Voldemort make it," Hermione replied.

"Well, Voldemort doesn't know that, does he," Harry pointed out. "And even if he did, you really think he'd let me live, knowing that I'm the only person who could kill him, especially now that we've destroyed all his Horcruxes?"

"No one's suffered more at Voldemort's hands," Hermione said, "but that doesn't mean you should go in there looking for a fight. McGonagall sent you that warning so you would stay away."

"McGonagall sent me that warning so I would know what was happening and make my own decision," Harry countered. "I'm going to go in there and fight with everything I have, and there's a good chance I won't live to tell about it, but if I don't try then this is never going to stop."

"Harry, you're going in there, that's fine, but we're coming with you whether you like it or not," Ron said forcefully.

"We've come with you this far, Harry," Hermione added. "This is hardly the time to back out."

Harry wanted to ask them once more to stay behind and not put themselves in jeopardy for his sake, but he knew it was no use. Instead he said, "Can we go then?"

The Shrieking Shack was closest, so they extinguished the fire, unsealed the entrance to the cave, and left. Fortunately, the Dementors had moved off. Though the rain was still pouring down and the Dementors seemed to have stolen all the remaining light, they could still just barely make out the village of Hogsmeade, but they could tell that most of the Dementors seemed to have gathered there. Harry nearly forgot himself as he watched, nearly drifted off in the wrong direction to try and help the village, but Hermione caught his eye and he mastered himself. They had bigger concerns.

They reached the Shrieking Shack and found that it had already been broken into, which struck Harry as a bad sign, but none of them commented on it as they made their way into the Shack, through the tunnel, past the Whomping Willow, and onto the grounds.

The Dementors in Hogsmeade had been a distraction for other people, and Harry knew it. Voldemort had never really bothered with trying to attack Harry with those creatures, even though they were the best assassins. After all, Harry had proven himself able to fend off a horde of them in his third year, and Hermione's otter patronus was a right old spitfire when the occasion called for it, as was Ron's Jack Russell terrier. At any rate, this foresight on the part of Voldemort made itself manifest in a huge annoyance for Harry, Ron, and Hermione, with proportionally large teeth and claws.

"That is one big lion," Ron said, awed, as they squinted up at the behemoth. Likewise, it gazed down at them, standing impassively between them and Hogwarts, waiting for the wizards to make the first move. The pouring rain gathered in its matted fur and slid down to the ground in front of them, upsetting and adding to the puddles already there.

"I'm not so sure that's a lion," Hermione replied, attempting to get a better look at it despite the pouring rain and dim light.

"Well, at any rate, it doesn't look like it's going to let us pass," Ron sighed. "Any thoughts?"

"Creatures this big are typically impervious to magic," Hermione pointed out. She looked mildly concerned. "What do you think, Harry?"

"How'd it get here?" was what Harry meant to say, and how he meant it to sound, but he failed in the latter respect as the words instead came out as croaking hisses.

All three wizards jumped in surprise at the unexpected noise.

Ron recovered first. "I thought you couldn't speak Parsletongue unless you were actually talking to a snake."

Harry concentrated for a moment then said, "I can't," grateful that this time the words came out in English.

The answer to that particular mystery was soon solved, as a giant snake came into view, flicking its tongue at them. At first glance, it looked as though the snake had merely caught a ride on the lion's back, but a sudden flash of lighting revealed not only that the snake in fact made up the lion's tail, but that the creature was also sporting another head, that of a goat, which seemed to protrude oddly from its back.

"Oh, no," Hermione whispered.

That seemed to sum up the situation very well as the trio stood, aghast, staring into the three faces of a Chimera, one of the most fearsome beasts known to wizard kind.

"Hermione," Ron said squeakily. "A brilliant solution would be nice right about now."

"I'm thinking!" Hermione yelped.

In the meantime, Harry decided to take matters into his own hands and hissed at the snake, "We don't want to hurt you."

"You're friends' actions suggest otherwise," all three heads replied simultaneously, creating an eerie echoing sound.

"We just want to get to the castle," Harry said. "We'll only fight in self defense." He aimed a significant look at his friends as he said this, although he couldn't tell if they actually understood him, as he was unsure whether he'd been speaking English or Parsletongue at the time.

"But we are so very hungry," the Chimera replied, "and you came so easily into our presence."

"We won't allow ourselves to be eaten," Harry gulped. "If you just let us go on our way then none of us will get hurt."

However, the Chimera seemed to have had enough of talking and had set about making itself as menacing as possible by bearing its combined teeth, although little effort toward its desired end was actually required.

"Hermione, do you have anything yet?" Harry asked desperately.

She shook her head despairingly. One look from Ron told Harry that he hadn't had any more luck.

"Spells will bounce right off him," Hermione explained hopelessly. "They're kind of like dragons that way."

That was all Harry needed to hear to come up with a plan, but the Chimera lunged at them before he got the chance to do anything about it. Ron tackled Hermione out of the way as the lion and goat's heads snapped at them and Harry nimbly sidestepped the snake.

For a moment, the Chimera seemed satisfied with stalking Ron and Hermione, who were scrambling to extricate themselves from the tangled pile they'd somehow gotten into. Harry took the opportunity to summon his broom from the broom shed and used the interceding time to throw whatever he could get his hands on at the beast while simultaneously sending conjunctivitis curses in its direction, although neither seemed to have much effect.

Not a moment too soon, his Firebolt came soaring up and halted next to him. He mounted it and kicked off from the ground and proceeded to try and distract the Chimera in much the same way he had the Hungarian Horntail in his fourth year, but with much less success. It seemed as though the Chimera was perfectly satisfied with leaving the snake head to snap at Harry and keep him at bay while the lion and goat heads continued to threaten Ron and Hermione.

The two on the ground had regained their footing by now, and were shooting off whatever spells they thought might help, but they too were proven ineffective. Everything seemed to slide off the creature's hide. Even a coordinated attack with stunning spells only resulted in a brief lapse in energy on the part of the Chimera. It soon became clear that, barring any unforeseen brilliant ideas, they wouldn't be able to slay this nemesis. Escape seemed to be the only viable option, difficult and risky as it was. There would be no outrunning the Chimera on foot, and even though Harry had his Firebolt, pulling out Ron and Hermione with it would be difficult at best and suicide at worst, especially since there would be no time for the two of them to mount the broom properly. Harry would have to carry them both.

Equally impossible was the option of carrying them to safety one at a time, as whoever was left behind would almost surely die before Harry could come back for him or her, and Harry couldn't make that choice, let alone live with it afterwards. His mind made up, Harry pocketed his wand and began to plan his attack. Unfortunately, he was unable to convey his idea to his friends: not only did he suspect that the Chimera would be able to thwart any plan if it had sufficient warning, but he could not guarantee that he would speak in English with the snake around. Therefore, it was lucky that Ron and Hermione figured out what he was doing and raised their hands up for him to grab a split second before he needed them to.

The extra weight forced Harry's chest onto his broom for support, compromising his ability to steer and he just barely managed to avoid crashing into the ground in the first few seconds of flight. Even after he recovered from that and became accustomed to working with the extra weight, gaining altitude proved to be a problem, the best he could do left Ron's toes just barely clearing the grass. Observing this, Hermione performed a spell on the two of them, making them lighter, which helped a little.

By now the Chimera had figured out what had become of its quarry and set off in pursuit. Fortunately it was no match for a Firebolt, even grossly over laden as it was. Harry flew Ron and Hermione to one of Hogwarts' second floor balconies then set off to head the Chimera back into the forest. He resembled nothing so much as an overly large fly, buzzing annoyingly around the creature's three heads. The beast took the bait this time and followed Harry, swatting and biting at him menacingly from three different directions. At long last, they reached the tree line and Harry shot off into the forest, the Chimera on his heels. The beast gained on him slowly, since Harry had to negotiate a route between the trees while the Chimera mostly just crashed through them. He was beginning to decide that wherever they were would have to be far enough and hoped the Chimera wouldn't have enough sense to navigate its way back out of the forest when he saw something he'd really hoped he would be able to avoid: a centaur, Bane, to be specific.

"What have you done?" Bane asked, just before shooting an arrow at the Chimera.

Harry saved himself the need to fabricate an explanation by flying up out of the dense forest and into the night sky. After a momentary battle with his conscience, Harry decided that the centaurs had always been able to handle themselves in the past and there was little he could have done at that point to help them anyway. Nevertheless, he did feel miserable for bringing this Chimera to the centaurs' doorstep then abandoning them with it, but he had a more important task at had.

That decided, Harry made his way to the balcony where he'd left Ron and Hermione. By the time he got there they had already checked each other for injuries and were anxiously awaiting his return. After he landed Harry realized how scratched and ragged he looked and how exhausted he felt, no longer in the top fighting form he had been in only a few minutes earlier. Harry stumbled inside then sank to the ground and allowed himself a brief minute's respite while Hermione dried off his robes then sought out and tended to the deepest scratches.

"Are you alright?" she asked urgently.

"Fine," Harry replied, shaking her off. "What about you, it didn't bite you, did it?"

"We're alright," Hermione said.

"Thanks for rescuing us," Ron added.

"Don't mention it," Harry replied, setting his Firebolt aside, standing up, and turning to go.

They advanced a few meters, heading toward the Entrance Hall, which their hallway overlooked, but they soon had a reason to stop.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry couldn't tell where the spell had come from, nor where it was directed, but in that moment he didn't care, he wasn't about to die within five minutes of arriving in Hogwarts, so he merely dragged Ron and Hermione behind the nearest suit of armor. After thirty seconds he judged that they spell must have run its course and made to move back into the open. However, before Harry had cleared the suit of armor, Ron pulled him back down and stepped out himself, tense and cringing. When a few seconds had passed and he still hadn't met his doom, he opened first one eye and then the other, finally relaxing when he saw that the hallway was empty. Harry and Hermione carefully extricated themselves and joined their companion.

"You didn't have to do that, mate," Harry informed him.

"Yeah, I did," Ron replied simply.

"Well, thanks," Harry said as Hermione grabbed his arm suddenly. "What's wrong?"

Apparently at a loss for words, Hermione merely pointed in the direction of the banister that overlooked the Entrance Hall. At first it was unclear exactly what had so disturbed her, then there was a sudden shout and the walls and ceiling around the entrance hall momentarily adopted a green glow.

"Oh no," Harry gasped, rushing to the balcony. Caution only returned to him in the last few steps.

Below, a small group of teachers, Aurors and Order members were attempting to defend the stairs and other points of access to the rest of the school against an encroaching pack of Death Eaters. Unfortunately, the defender's disadvantage seemed grave. They were not only outnumbered, but Mad-eye Moody and a limited number or Aurors seemed to be the only ones willing to return the Death Eaters' green fire in kind.

"We have to help them," Ron said, carefully aiming his wand at the nearest Death Eater.

"We can't," Harry cried, pushing his arm down.

"Well, what do you expect us to do? I'm not going to stand here and watch a massacre," Ron replied. "They don't know we're up here. We could pick them off one by one."

"And you don't think they'll notice?" Harry demanded. "Within thirty seconds every Death Eater in the castle will know where we are."

"Wait," Ron said. "How many do you think are here?"

"When Voldemort was resurrected there were almost thirty in his inner circle alone and all of them and everyone they know are bound to be here," Harry replied. "I thought we just proved that the front door isn't the only way into this castle."

"Mr. Potter is correct," said a voice from behind them.

The three wizards spun around, wands raised. They couldn't possibly have heard what they thought they had. He was dead.

"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione yelped, her eyes falling on a nearby picture. Its usual occupants looked like they were trying very hard not to complain about being crowded out by the former headmaster

"I thought I might be seeing you three here," Dumbledore replied.

"This is my battle," Harry said.

He'd expected Dumbledore to greet the statement with some prepared speech about how he was not yet ready, that the prophecy could wait, but he merely smiled sadly and said, "So it is."

Harry was too busy trying to comprehend this sudden reversal to reply right away, so Hermione asked, "Can you tell us anything about where the Death Eaters are, or how many are here?"

"Unfortunately, any information I have is now almost ten minutes old and thus hardly accurate. I can tell you this, however. If Voldemort is here, he has yet to make his presence known, but I believe you have the tools necessary to determine his location, Mr. Potter."

"Great," Harry muttered. He'd been worried that the Marauder's Map might be necessary; he'd foolishly left it in his dormitory and the Gryffindor tower was a significant and risky detour

"I don't need to tell you how dangerous these men are," Dumbledore said quietly, beckoning for them to gather around his borrowed picture, "but I would be negligent if I didn't remind you to be careful and look out for each other. Keep hidden and avoid the Death Eaters if you can. I believe you have a tool that can help with that as well, Harry."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, grateful that he'd at least had the foresight to bring his invisibility cloak along on the trip to Hogsmeade.

"Since I suppose you will be headed in that direction anyway," Dumbledore continued, "the students were sent to their dormitories as soon as the first Death Eaters were spotted, and the ghosts have been giving Professor McGonagall regular reports on their well being, but I have been rather worried about them, those in Gryffindor especially. I fear it will be difficult to keep them from being drawn into this conflict."

"We'll check on them, Professor," Hermione assured him.

"I suppose that's all, then," Dumbledore sighed. "The best of luck to you all."

"You too, Professor," came the general reply as the three young wizards started off.

"Oh, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, calling the two of them back while Harry continued to the banister. "You do know-"

"That this is Harry's fight and not ours?" Hermione finished. "Yeah."

"And you know why?" Dumbledore continued.

"Yes," Ron replied.

"And you realize it would be much safer for the both of you-"

"With all due respect, sir," Hermione interrupted, "Harry tried to tell us the same thing and we didn't listen to him either."

"In that case…" Dumbledore started.

"Look out for him," Ron said. "We know."

Dumbledore gave them a silent nod and a smile, then backed away from the picture frame, inviting them to continue on. Ron and Hermione joined Harry by the banister. The battle had ended and the floor below was scattered with random bodies, stunned or dead, Auror and Death Eater alike.

"Come on, mate, let's go," Ron urged him.

Harry, however, was not to be moved for the moment. "We could have helped them, we had the high ground, they didn't have to die."

"No we couldn't, Harry," Hermione replied. "You said so yourself, we would've given away our position. We have to focus on finding Voldemort."

"But we could have helped them!" Harry cried.

"Harry, there's nothing we can do anymore."

"We've got to go, Harry."

"Alright," Harry snapped reluctantly. He pulled his cloak out of his pocket, shook it open, and threw it over the three of them.

They'd long since outgrown the cloak when they wore it together, but it was so useful that they didn't let that stop them, it just required a bit of maneuvering that left them quite grateful that they couldn't be seen. Stairs, however, had grown increasingly difficult to navigate, especially for Ron, who was so tall that the cloak only barely covered him when he wore it alone and had to hunch over very far when Harry and Hermione were underneath with him. They were constantly getting in the way of each other's feet, but rapidly fell into a rhythm that carried them up several flights of stairs and past many small skirmishes undetected. In fact, they didn't run into any trouble at all until they turned a corner to mount the staircase to the sixth floor and found a group of Death Eaters blocking their path.

"Five," Harry whispered, when they'd slipped back around the corner.

"We can't go around," Hermione pointed out desperately. "It would take too long."

"We'll just have to fight them," Harry replied. Ron and Hermione nodded gamely.

Bunching together, they crept out from behind their cover and made their way as far up the staircase as they could without alerting the Death Eaters. Then, after a silent count of three, Hermione whipped the invisibility cloak off of them and Harry and Ron leapt at the Death Eaters, with Hermione following shortly afterward. However, something happened that they did not expect. One of the Death Eaters, a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Bellatrix Lestrange, took one look at them and immediately cursed one of the other Death Eaters. He crumpled into a heap and rolled down the stairs.

A year ago, Harry, Ron, and Hermione might have shown their surprise, dropped their guard, and lost the battle, but their time searching out the Horcruxes had taught them to use any advantage they could and sort out where it came from later.

"Get out of here!" the woman yelled as she dueled with another Death Eater.

Ron and Hermione needed no second bidding and they dragged Harry along with them as they made their way up the stairs.

"Why did she do that?" Harry gasped as soon as they were safely on the next floor and underneath the invisibility cloak. "Betray the other Death Eaters, like that?"

"It was Tonks," Ron replied matter of factly.

"It was?" Harry demanded.

"It's the only explanation," Hermione agreed.

"She got one and I got one," Harry continued quickly. "Did either of you get your Death Eaters?"

"Not quite," Ron admitted. Hermione simply shook her head.

"Then she's outnumbered down there," Harry exclaimed, and he would have slipped out from under the invisibility cloak and rejoined the fight if Ron and Hermione hadn't stopped him.

"She's an Auror, she can handle herself," Ron replied.

"We're right here, we can help her," Harry pointed out.

"She told us to go," Hermione said. "We're wasting time arguing about this. We need to focus on getting the Marauder's Map so we can find Voldemort."

Harry took one last reluctant look at the stairs they'd just left, but Ron tightened his grip on Harry's arm and he relented. They reached the seventh floor without any further incident, but got held up at the portrait of the Fat Lady, who refused to let them in no matter how many passwords they had.

"Please!" Harry begged, as they slipped out from under the cloak. She'd just refused to open even though Hermione had recited every password from their sixth year. "It's very important that we get inside. We're on orders from Dumbledore."

"I'm on orders from Headmistress McGonagall," the Fat Lady said, and Harry knew that she'd purposefully emphasized who was now head of the school. "There's simply no telling whether or not you're Death Eaters in disguise, especially since you should already be inside."

"I suppose it wouldn't help if I told you that Sirius Black slashed up your picture while we were all at the Halloween feast during our third year because you wouldn't let him inside," Harry offered hopelessly.

"It most certainly would not," the Fat Lady cried indignantly.

"Your best friend's name is Violet," Harry tried.

"Everyone knows that!" the Fat Lady exclaimed.

"Mimbulus Mimbletonia," Harry muttered.

"No."

"Fairy Lights."

"No."

"Balderdash."

"I will not be letting you in to this tower."

"Come on, you've known us for years."

The Fat Lady's retort was interrupted by a loud sound from behind Harry. He turned around, wand ready, just in time to see Peeves soar away. Harry was about to redouble his efforts with the Fat Lady when his gaze fell back to their hallway and he found a Death Eater standing there, not five meters away, staring blankly in their direction, the usual mark of someone who'd just had his memory modified.

"You did that?" Ron asked, mystified, turning to Hermione, who still had her wand raised at pointed at the Death Eater.

Hermione didn't get a chance to respond, for at that moment the Death Eater's eyes slid back into focus.

"What happened?" he asked, turning to them.

"You didn't just wipe his memory, did you?" Ron whispered, awestruck. "You modified it."

Looking confused, the Death Eater ran a hand through his hair and immediately spotted his tattoo of the Dark Mark. "What happened?" he repeated. "Where did I get this?"

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, rushing up to him. "Sorry I had to do that, McGonagall's probably going to kill me, but no one ever told us the keyword and I couldn't just let you capture us, could I?"

Harry blinked, wondering what on Earth Hermione was talking about. He exchanged a look with Ron and knew that he was feeling the same way.

"Sorry," the Death Eater stammered, "but what keyword?"

"Oh, right, I suppose you wouldn't know," Hermione said with a laugh, but it sounded forced to Harry. "The mind's a funny thing that way. Dumbledore did something to your memory so you wouldn't remember unless someone told you the keyword. Then you'd make your reports about what Voldemort is doing, someone would tell you another keyword to make you forget again, and you'd go back to the Death Eaters like nothing ever happened. You've been very helpful over the years."

"Oh," the Death Eater sighed. He seemed to accept Hermione's story, but Harry did not. He'd seen enough of her to know when she was lying.

"Does any of this sound familiar?" Hermione asked.

"Did I volunteer for this?" the Death Eater asked, shaking his head.

"Oh dear," Hermione moaned, but Harry could hear the falseness in her tone. "I must have done a worse job than I thought. It wasn't ever supposed to happen like this, I'm-"

"Nott!"

The shout came from some distance away, but still far too close for comfort.

"Nott, is that me?" the Death Eater asked as they slipped into a shadowy corner to hide.

"Yeah, that's you," Hermione replied after taking a moment to consider.

"Then they're probably going to come this way looking for me," Nott said. "Listen, I'll go distract them, you three do what you need to do."

"No, wait," Hermione yelped. "If they find out what's really been going on…" She suddenly seemed rather attached, considering that she'd modified the man's memory to keep him from capturing them.

"I know," Nott replied. "But I guess it's what I'm for. Thanks for telling me the truth."

Nott turned and ran off in the direction of the shout. As soon as he was gone, Ron demanded, "How did you come up with all that?"

"I don't know," Hermione said with a shrug. "I might have seen something like that in a Muggle movie when I was a kid."

Ron seemed not to understand, but Harry thought it was a plausible explanation and decided not to press the issue. Instead, he turned back to the portrait of the Fat Lady and asked, "Are you convinced we're not working for the Death Eaters now?"

"Yes, yes, alright, come on," she relented, clicking open.

Harry was about to climb gratefully into the portrait hole when Hermione called him back.

"We should probably stay out here, just in case I didn't do as good of a job on him as I thought," she said. Ron nodded.

"Alright," Harry agreed. "I won't be long, but take the cloak."

He passed the cloak over and slipped inside. The first thing he noticed was the many faces staring up at him with looks ranging from utter terror to strangled relief. One thing they all had in common though, was panic, and it seemed to paralyze each and every one of them in a way no full body bind could. A sudden flash of lightning lit up the dark and rainy sky and a thunder clap sounded a moment later. A few students jumped at the noise but the rest seemed beyond even that. Luckily, someone had the faculty of mind to set up barricades around the fireplace and portrait hole, the latter of which Harry nearly tripped over, but neither position was being defended. As Harry looked at his peers, all thoughts of getting the Marauder's Map quickly then leaving were banished from his mind. He couldn't leave them like this.

Ginny was the first among the huddled mass to recover and step forward. Neville, Dean, and Seamus came up a moment later.

"What's happening?" she asked desperately, clearly trying to subdue her panic. "McGonagall announced that we should lock ourselves in our houses as quickly as possible, but that was over an hour ago, we haven't heard anything else since."

"Voldemort's attacking Hogwarts," Harry replied quietly as Neville, Seamus, and Dean came up to hear what Harry had to say. "He's somewhere in the castle. The Order, the Aurors, Ron, Hermione, and I are looking for him, but the Death Eaters are giving us trouble."

"Why would You-Know-Who come here?" Neville asked. "Is he looking for something?"

"Yes," Harry sighed. He hadn't wanted to divulge this particular bit of information to Ron and Hermione nearly two years ago and hadn't told anyone else since, so no one here knew about the prophecy, and there was insufficient time to explain it now. "We think he's looking for me."

"Why you?" Seamus asked predictably.

"That's complicated," Harry replied. "The point is that I can't stay here much longer without putting you all in danger." He raised his voice now and addressed the entire group.

"Listen up. You all deserve to know that Hogwarts is currently being attacked by some very bad wizards." He winced at his own dismal euphemism and observed similar sentiments in the older students. "Does anyone have any floo powder?"

Several people brightened up at the possibility, but they were denied this simple solution; no one had any.

"Alright," Harry sighed. "The Fat Lady should be able to stop anyone who shouldn't be in here, but we have to make sure this place can be well defended, just in case. It would be best if first, second, and third years go lock themselves in the dormitories, the girls' side if the boys can make it up there, since the staircase will hinder most of the Death Eaters. Should anything go wrong up there, third years, you'll be in charge of defending the younger students. Everyone else, it's your task to make sure they don't have to by stopping any intruders before they have a chance to get upstairs. Should it come down to it, Fred and George's fireworks make an excellent distraction. There's a stash of them in the seventh year boys' dormitory."

Harry had expected his peers to act on his suggestions right away. After all, they made sense and were for the greater good, but in general they seemed more petrified than when he first came in. Harry sighed, knowing only one way to bolster them.

"Come on you lot. We're Gryffindors, famed for our bravery. Each and every one of you was put into this house for a reason. The sorting hat saw courage in you, live up to it! Tonight we are all in danger, and tonight we may all be called upon in this battle. I know you're afraid, I know you don't want to fight, but if it comes down to it, you will have the choice to give up or to strike back. You can't give up. Together, you can face anything that comes through that portrait; all you need is to be ready for it."

Harry paused, unsure of what to say next. An uncomfortable silence ensued until someone asked, "What about the students in other houses?"

Harry couldn't resist a smile, that was much more like it, even though the answer was difficult.

"Unfortunately, without their passwords there's nothing I can do for them, but if I see anyone I'll remind them to check on their houses. Now then, first, second, and third years upstairs, everyone else down here. DA members should stay in charge here…" he noticed the several dirty looks he was getting and struggled with himself momentarily before relenting and said, "…or, if you're willing, you can come out and help."

Harry watched gratefully as his peers began organizing themselves according to his suggestions and could hardly suppress a wave of pride and gratitude as every member of the DA in his house moved to join him at the foot of the portrait hole.

"We're with you, Harry," Ginny said from next to him. The rest of the DA nodded their agreement.

"Alright," Harry said, slightly taken aback. "I just need the Marauder's Map; I'll be back in a minute."

Harry dashed upstairs, pulled the Map from his trunk, and ran back down to the Common Room again. When he got there, the room had been transformed. The older students were crouched behind their barricades and the younger students had already scrambled up to the girls' dormitories.

"I guess we're ready, then," Harry said to the DA.

They slipped back out through the portrait hole and met up with Ron and Hermione, who ducked out from under the invisibility cloak and looked surprised to see that Harry had brought along so many people.

"They wanted to help," Harry offered with a shrug.

"I'm not sure how much use this is going to be, then," Ron replied, handing Harry the cloak. "There's no way we'll all fit under there."

"I guess not," Harry said, pocketing the cloak. He hadn't thought of that, but it wouldn't be fair for some of them to go invisible and the rest not to.

"Listen, Harry, why don't Seamus and I go and see and see if we can check on the other houses," Dean suggested, catching Harry off guard. "We've got some friends in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff and we know where their common rooms are."

Harry gave Dean and Seamus a searching look. Neither one of them had been there at the battle in the Department of Mysteries; they'd never been in a battle at all. They had no idea what they were getting themselves into, volunteering to go off by themselves, but they seemed eager, and surely wherever they might end up would be less dangerous than his destination.

"Alright, if you're sure," Harry finally relented. "Be careful, though."

Dean and Seamus nodded and left and Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville slipped into the nearest secret passageway to consult the Marauder's Map, looking for Voldemort. It was five minutes before Hermione finally spotted a small dot labeled Tom Riddle on the second floor.

They worked out a route that would avoid the groups of Death Eaters in the castle and started off. However, only a short distance away they came upon a horrible sight. Nott, the Death Eater who'd had his memory modified, was there, and he was dead.

"The other Death Eaters must have noticed that something was different about him," Harry guessed, watching Hermione carefully. She seemed rooted to the spot and Ron had to take her arm and guide her past the scene.

Still more trouble arose on the fourth floor. Ginny, who'd taken over keeping an eye on the map for Hermione, motioned them all behind a large tapestry.

"What's go-" Ron began, but Ginny silenced him by throwing an arm across his face.

Ron's question was quickly answered anyway. Harry peered carefully out from behind the tapestry and saw Bellatrix Lestrange stalking toward them. Unfortunately, he was not the only person to spot her.

"Neville, where are you going?" Hermione whispered urgently as Neville slipped out from behind the tapestry and pointed his wand at the Death Eater.

"Ah! Ickle Longbottom." Bellatrix cooed. "I wondered if I'd be seeing you here."

"Neville!" Harry cried, ducking out from behind the tapestry himself. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Do you?" Neville yelled back.

It was a question of complexity beyond anything Harry had been prepared for. Of course he wanted Bellatrix dead, or at least unable to cause anyone else harm, but he didn't want to be the one who put her that way, and he hoped that Neville didn't want to either. Still, if anyone was going to decide what should be done with her, it ought to be Neville, who'd suffered the most because of her handiwork.

Neville took Harry's silence as a no and refocused his entire attention on Bellatrix.

The Death Eater laughed. "Even little Harry Potter is afraid to face me, but you think you can do it alone? This should be entertaining."

As she was speaking, Neville pointed his wand at the suit of armor behind her. Misjudging where he'd aimed, Bellatrix leapt unnecessarily out of the way, but laughed even harder when she saw the result of Neville's attempt. His transfiguration had always been somewhat substandard, so his idea in someone else's hands might have been exactly what was needed to win the battle. However, as it was, it resulted only in a suit of armor which drew a sword and half heartedly raised it to attack Bellatrix before losing its purpose and freezing in place.

"Oh, brilliant distraction," Bellatrix cooed. "I'll be sure to watch out for that."

Without any further warning, Bellatrix brought her wand up and performed the same slashing spell that had incapacitated Hermione during the battle in the Department of Mysteries.

"Protego!" Neville yelped, stumbling backward as the purple spell overtook him.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny rushed forward, but before they were close enough to be of any help, Neville regained his footing and held up a hand, asking them to stay back. His other arm was occupied with clutching at his ribs. Apparently his shield charm hadn't been entirely effective.

He straightened up and faced Bellatrix, somehow looking even more determined than he had before.

"Eager for more?" Bellatrix asked, laughing shrilly. "I'll see what I can do, then."

A spell erupted from her wand before she'd even finished speaking, but Neville was ready for it this time and jumped out of the way, sending a curse back at his opponent.

It became immediately clear that any extended battle between Neville and Bellatrix could only end in favor of the Death Eater. Already, Neville's supply of advanced spells had been proven ineffective against his powerful opponent and he was reduced to trying to catch her off guard with the more basic ones.

Just as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had decided to ignore their friend's requests and join the fight, Neville finally landed a knockback jinx on Bellatrix.

She tripped backwards into the suit of armor which Neville had attempted to transfigure and, consequently, directly into its sword, which impaled her through the stomach.

Bellatrix glanced down at the bloody sword which was now extending out from her midriff, but instead of looking surprised or horrified or even in pain, she threw her head back and laughed. It was sickening, watching her revel in the irony of her own undoing even as blood dripped from her torso and mouth.

Then Bellatrix did something no one anticipated– she raised her wand, pointed it at Neville, and shouted, "Cruc-!"

"Stupefy!" Neville replied, cutting her off.

Bellatrix immediately went slack and fell to the side, pulling the suit of armor down on top of her.

Neville didn't move as Ron, Hermione, and Ginny took Bellatrix's wand and tied her in ropes, just in case she managed to wake up.

"Neville, are you okay?" Harry asked carefully. The wizard in question seemed to be in shock: he hadn't even lowered his wand.

For a moment it looked like Neville hadn't heard Harry, then he said, "I wonder if they'll be alright now."

"Who?" Harry asked. The only 'they' he could think of were the Death Eaters, but that didn't make much sense in the context of Neville's statement.

"My parents," Neville replied hopefully, finally turning to face Harry. "After a wizard dies the spells they've cast disappear."

"Oh," Harry sighed, finding himself suddenly unable to maintain eye contact with Neville. He knew that wizards can't maintain their spells after death; he'd discovered that when Dumbledore died, but there was a radical difference between a freezing charm and insanity caused by being tortured with the Cruciatus curse. However, Harry couldn't stand the idea of crushing Neville's hopes so soon after he'd found them, especially since he didn't know for sure, so he said sadly, "Maybe they will."

"We've got to keep going," Harry said after a moment.

"Alright," Neville replied gamely, but his legs seemed unwilling to obey his commands: he took one step and tripped over his numb feet. Harry had to catch him and lower him to the ground. Now that he was there, Neville looked like he never wanted to stand up again.

"You three go on," Ginny offered immediately. "I'll take him back up to the common room. It'll be safe there. I'll find you lot afterwards."

"Alright," Harry agreed rapidly, eager to see her out of this conflict, "but take the Marauder's Map, it'll help you find us."

"You need it more than I do," Ginny protested.

"Ginny, please," Harry begged. Ginny glanced up at him, looking surprise, and they held each other's gaze for a moment.

"Oh. All right," Ginny relented, handing the map to Hermione, who gave it one last perusal before giving it back.

They parted ways, Ginny staggering upstairs under Neville's weight and Harry, Ron, and Hermione striding in the opposite direction, unencumbered. Now without the Marauder's Map, they were reduced to following a horrible trail of bodies and ruined statues. Fifteen minutes later it led them at last to a likely looking staircase. Its banister looked like it had received several spells and entire steps were missing. They were half way down to the third floor when they heard a horrible voice.

"You have betrayed me."

It echoed so much that they had no hope of determining where it had come from, but for Harry there was no mistaking the speaker. They crouched down against the crumbling banister, even though they knew that it wasn't a very good hiding place at all.

Another voice replied, "No, Master."

This voice too was sorely familiar.

"That's Snape!" Harry exclaimed, making to stand up and rush forward.

"Stop!" Ron and Hermione hissed, pulling him down.

"We can't just sit here and do nothing!" Harry said. "Snape killed Dumbledore!"

"Harry, at least wear your cloak," Hermione pleaded, grabbing his arm to prevent him from standing up.

"I want him to be able to see me when I kill him," Harry replied as loudly as he dared.

"We can't go after them both," Hermione said.

"We can when there are three of us and two of them," Harry replied.

"Think about it, Harry," Hermione said. "We don't know that there aren't any other Death Eaters over there."

"They're both much more powerful wizards than us," Ron pointed out.

"Do not think I cannot tell you are lying," Voldemort sneered. "It does not matter how accomplished you think you are at Occlumens, the Dark Lord always knows."

"I assure you, Master," Snape continued.

"And yet you persist in feeding me lies," Voldemort said. "I know your loyalty has been to Dumbledore since before my powers broke at the hands of that Potter. I know you have been passing information to the Order of the Phoenix for the past three years and yet you still maintain the illusion of servility to me. But I have been feeding you lies as well. Don't look so surprised, why shouldn't I have pressed my advantage? You have been giving false information to the Order all this time. Why else would everyone assure you that we were staying in Albania if we were about to attack here?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione glanced at each other, struggling to comprehend what they'd just heard.

There was a pause, then the second voice said, "You will not succeed, the Order will stop you."

"I doubt it," Voldemort replied, "but I suppose I must wait and see. You, however, will not be given that pleasure. Your usefulness has run out, and you will now greet the same fate that meets all who betray me. Avada Kedavra!"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione winced as a body audibly slumped to the floor and Voldemort stalked away. After the footsteps faded, they pulled on the invisibility cloak and made their way down the rest of the stairs then turned a corner to where the discussion had taken place, already suspecting what they'd see. Sure enough, black robed, sallow skinned, greasy haired Professor Snape was lying in a heap in front of them. All three were stunned. The person they had suspected more than any other of betraying Dumbledore's trust had died proclaiming his belief that Harry and the Order would prevail.

Feeling deeply unsettled, Harry led the way as they followed two Death Eaters who had hung behind when Voldemort left. They carried on following the Death Eaters until it was obvious that their quarry was either completely lost or hadn't had a destination in mind in the first place. Harry, Ron, and Hermione took to wandering, hoping to find some indication of where to go next. At last, they happened to glance down to an intersection of two hallways, where no less than five Death Eaters were standing.

"It looks like they're guarding something," Harry said.

"Sure does," Hermione agreed.

After only a few moments of discussion, they pulled off the invisibility cloak and set off in opposite directions, intending to attack the Death Eaters from three sides. When their agreed time arrived, Harry and Ron sprung into action, but Hermione did not. Though confused and a bit distracted by her absence, Harry and Ron used their surprise to its full advantage and made quick work of the Death Eaters.

"Where'd she go?" Ron asked, concerned, as he tied the last Death Eater in ropes.

"I don't know," Harry replied, setting off down the hallway Hermione should have arrived through.

Someone had extinguished the lights there, so they lit their wands but still found no sign of her. Growing worried, Harry and Ron began checking inside classrooms and closets as they passed them. In the fifth, they found a Death Eater pointing his wand at the ceiling. They didn't have a chance to find out his interest in the roof, because he ran off through a second door the moment he spotted them. Harry and Ron gave chase, but a few minutes later they lost him and returned the way they came. When they returned to the classroom they were surprised to find Hermione there.

"You dueled him?" Ron asked after taking a moment to consider. It would have explained her current state: her nose was broken and bleeding and her forehead sported a large gash.

Hermione didn't respond, she just looked shocked.

"Hermione, are you alright?" Harry asked, eying her suspiciously.

"Yeah, I think so," Hermione replied, slowly coming out of her daze. Her inflection didn't quite line up with how Harry had expected her to respond, but he didn't have time to wonder why.

"Nice duel," he continued. "Are you alright to keep going?"

"Let's go," Hermione said, and for that, at least, she seemed genuinely eager.

They slipped back under the invisibility cloak and made their way back to the scene of Harry and Ron's battle, which, luckily, hadn't changed since they left it. They didn't make it very far, however, before something came crashing into them, knocking them to the ground. The invisibility cloak fluttered up over their heads, revealing them to their assailant, although, apparently, he didn't need to see them to find them.

This was followed by a brief disagreement concerning what to do next. Harry leapt to his feet, wand raised, facing Fenrir Greyback, while Hermione scrambled back under the cloak and pulled Ron under with her.

Bravely, Harry maintained his ground even after the snarling Greyback developed a very hungry look in his eye. However, before either of them got the opportunity to mount an attack, Greyback was suddenly tackled to the ground. Peter Pettigrew was holding him to the floor and looking as though he was quite certain that he had finally lost his mind.

A moment later, Lupin came running into the fray, yelling, "Harry! Hide!"

Before Harry had decided whether this statement ought to be ignored entirely or warranted an indignant rebuttal, Ron and Hermione had shuffled forward and thrown the cloak over him as well. After that he was forcibly prevented from rejoining the battle.

It didn't take long at all for Greyback to toss Pettigrew aside and regain his feet, but by that time Lupin was already upon him. A cutting spell grazed Greyback's shoulder, but since the werewolf's wand was nowhere in sight, Lupin seemed reluctant to press such an unfair advantage.

Slowly, Greyback reached up and ran his hand over his wound, then gazed that the blood covering his fingers with mild interest. "So, Remus, this is how you repay me."

"I am not in your debt," Lupin spat, tightening his grip on his wand.

"You owe me your existence," Greyback growled. "I made you who you are."

"You made me an outcast," Lupin replied. "I'm not about to thank you for it."

"After all these years you have yet to realize that I made you stronger," Greyback continued, licking his lips. "I thought maybe you knew when you joined us two years ago, but now I see you are just as weak as any other wizard."

"I guess its true what they say, then," Lupin shrugged. "You can never trust a werewolf."

Greyback rushed forward and slashed his fingernails across Lupin's neck and chest. Blood spurted everywhere, but he didn't have time to do any more damage, because suddenly, Greyback howled in pain and dropped to the floor. While Greyback was distracted with Lupin, Pettigrew had crept forward along the floor. When he was close enough, he had used his silver hand to crush the bone in Greyback's leg. However, there was a flaw in this plan: Pettigrew didn't quite manage to retreat before Greyback started raking his claw-like nails against his face and arms. Pettigrew yelped and tried to roll away, but it was no use, Greyback grabbed his arm and wouldn't let go. Turning into a rat only made matters worse: Greyback caught him up by the tail and left a long scratch down his spine.

Without warning, Greyback dropped Pettigrew in favor of grasping at his neck. Pettigrew scrambled away and transformed, then sat on his knees and watched Greyback slowly choke to death. When it was clear that the werewolf would trouble them no more, Lupin released the spell that had been strangling him.

"Did he bite you?" Lupin asked weakly, glancing at Pettigrew and holding a torn piece of his robe to his own neck.

"I think these are all scratches," Pettigrew replied, examining his bloodied arm. "So, we can work together after all, Moony."

"I suppose so, Wormtail," Lupin said, reaching down to pull Pettigrew to his feet.

For a moment, it looked as though they might put aside all the wrongs that had passed between them, then Pettigrew attacked.

Caught off guard by the sudden onslaught, Lupin was knocked backwards into a nearby banister before he could even raise his wand. He sent a curse back, but Pettigrew raised his silver hand to intercept it and the spell was deflected away. Every piece of magic Lupin performed met a similar fate as Pettigrew slowly came toward him. Finally, with a terrible smirk, Pettigrew placed a hand on Lupin's chest and tipped him backwards over the banister.

Harry was too surprised and horrified even to cry out. He hadn't seen where Lupin fell, but rushed off to the nearest staircase anyway, ignoring Pettigrew, dragging Ron and Hermione along with him. As soon as they were downstairs and away from Pettigrew and Greyback, Harry whipped off the cloak and began his search in earnest.

"Where are you!" he called desperately, knowing it was useless. He'd watched that fight, seen that fall. There was no way Lupin was in any fit state to respond. Ron and Hermione were following behind him, their attempts to remind him that his responsibility was to finding Voldemort thwarted by their own desires to find and help their old professor.

At last, Harry turned a corner and nearly stumbled over Lupin's prone form. The former professor groaned as Harry's wayward foot accidentally jostled him into consciousness. Lupin was lying in a pool of his own blood, which was being continually augmented by the blood leaking out of his nose, mouth, ears, and neck. His legs were lying at very strange angles, but he didn't seem at all equal to rearranging them. Harry's knowledge of healing spells were limited and he was afraid to try any of them, and Ron and Hermione seemed to be of a similar mind, but they weren't about to leave, either.

"Professor? Professor Lupin?" Harry asked gently as Ron came up alongside him. Hermione seemed unable to come closer and instead hovered a short distance away, apparently prepared to defend the scene against all comers.

"Harry?" Lupin coughed weakly, spitting out a bit of blood, "you shouldn't be here. You have to go. Everyone's counting on you."

"Everyone can wait," Harry replied firmly. He couldn't let the closest person he had to a true uncle die alone, even if it put his task in danger, and he knew the folly of this line of thought just as much as he knew it was the only way things could be.

Lupin seemed to realize this as well and changed the subject, saying, "Your father would be proud of you."

Whether Lupin had intended it or not, his statement robbed Harry of words. It was all the young wizard could do to mutter an embarrassed, "Thanks."

"I can't count the number of times I have been amazed by the ingenuity of all three of you," Lupin continued. "Together, there is nothing that can stop you."

Suddenly, Lupin grabbed Harry by the shoulder and Ron by the forearm and groaned, "Help her!" then he relaxed and his arms dropped to the floor.

"Wait!" Harry cried, carefully shaking Lupin's shoulder. "Come back! Help who?"

Suddenly, Hermione made her presence known behind them, saying, "There's a group of Death Eaters coming."

Desperately, Harry turned back to their deceased professor, shaking him more vigorously and demanding an answer to his dying riddle, until Ron pulled him off, crying "It's no use, mate, he's gone. We've got to go."

"We can't just leave him here," Harry sobbed.

"We don't have a choice," Hermione pointed out as the sound of approaching Death Eaters took a sudden crescendo.

As a knot of intertwined arms and support, the group managed to disappear mere seconds before Lupin's body was discovered by the Death Eaters.

They covered themselves again in the invisibility cloak and once again only managed to travel a short distance before running in to more trouble. A group of seven Death Eaters were milling about, blocking the way they were trying to go.

"We'll have to use a distraction," Harry whispered after studying the situation for only a few seconds.

"What?" Ron demanded. "No."

"Listen," Harry replied. "I don't like the idea of a distraction either, but we can't ambush these Death Eaters, there's no way over there."

"You know things go better when the three of us stick together," Ron pointed out.

"I'm open to suggestions," Harry replied.

"I'll do it," Hermione volunteered.

"What?" Ron demanded.

"You heard me," Hermione replied. "I'll go over there under Harry's invisibility cloak, make some noises, head them off, and I'll come back as soon as I can."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded and Harry gave her the invisibility cloak. Wishing each other good luck, they parted ways. Harry and Ron ducking into the nearest hiding place and watched as the seven Death Eaters passed by, following the amplified sound of Hermione's footsteps. The way clear, they carried on.

They continued for a few minutes, but had long ago lost all track of where Voldemort might be. Just as they were about to double back for the third time they heard a loud echoing pop and retreated behind the nearest statue. However, when they heard a crash and a squeak they leaned out to investigate and found Dobby approaching, banging his head against the wall as he went.

"Harry Potter, sir," Dobby squealed as soon as he spotted Harry. "Dobby has been watching the Death Eaters, and he has seen that a terrible plot is afoot…" He trailed off, apparently fighting with himself.

"What kind of plot, Dobby?" Harry asked, but the elf seemed to have lost the ability to explain. "Did Mr. Malfoy order you not to tell us? He's not your master anymore; you don't have to listen to him."

Dobby shook his head, ears drooping.

"Did the Death Eaters do something else, then?" Harry pressed, his mind finally settling on a likely possibility. "Did they threaten to do something to the other house-elves if you told us?"

Dobby looked straight at Harry, his eyes wide. It seemed like a yes.

"I can't promise to protect you and the other House Elves," Harry said, a great deal of regret in his voice, "but you all have much more power than you tend to use. Why don't you try telling the others that McGonagall gave them permission to defend themselves."

Dobby nodded slowly.

"Great," Harry said, then added, "If you know, it would really help us if you can just point us in the direction of Voldemort."

After a moment's consideration, Dobby pointed a shaking hand in the direction of a nearby secret passageway that led to a corridor on the west side of the second floor, then trotted away, throwing his head against the wall whenever the opportunity arose.

"Well, that way, then," Harry said with a shrug, and he and Ron departed.

The corridors in the area Dobby had indicated were the clearest they'd seen in all of Hogwarts that night, and Harry allowed himself to wonder if the Order might finally be gaining the upper hand. They searched all over, checked every classroom and passageway, looking for any evidence of Voldemort.

Harry heard the spells, they came from all around him, and in the split second it took for magic to travel from attacker to victim, Harry realized that the empty corridors had led him into a trap. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, cover was nowhere to be found. Then the spells struck.

The ground seemed very far away.

He could feel the energy being drained from his body. Every second was a battle to stay conscious, and every battle drained the energy he no longer had.

The floor was cold and hard.

he couldn't breathe

there was no air

he couldn't move

he couldn't stay awake

he was going…to…

Cold.

That was what woke Harry, but it was the unforgiving floor and the stiffness in his bound limbs that kept him that way. His glasses had been knocked askew and he awkwardly replaced them even though there was nothing much to see, the room was nearly dark. However, he could sense someone moving around in the shadows.

"So nice of you to join me."

"Voldemort!" Harry yelped as he realized the identity of his company.

"We really must stop meeting like this," Voldemort hissed. "I'll have to see what I can do about it."

"If you're going to kill me at least make a proper duel of it," Harry suggested desperately. "Only a coward would kill someone who can't fight ba-"

But it was no use. A bolt of red light erupted from somewhere in the shadows. It shot straight towards Harry and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Harry braced himself, but the spell never reached him. He heard something heavy fall to the floor in front of him, then a terrible sound met his ears: Ron screaming in terrible agony.

"No," Harry whispered, squirming his way over to Ron. He carefully extracted Ron's wand from his flailing hand and untied the ropes around his own arms and feet.

Harry got to his knees and aimed Ron's wand at Voldemort, but the Dark Lord simply laughed and moved off into the next room. Harry hesitated, confused. Never before had he known Voldemort to walk away from a fight such as this, but then he looked down at Ron and understood: Voldemort was making him choose.

It was no choice at all, really. Voldemort could wait and Ron couldn't. He'd encountered Voldemort before and he'd meet him again. Ron needed help and Harry still didn't know how he would survive a fight with Voldemort. But so many people had been hurt or killed that night; Harry couldn't let their sacrifices be for nothing. Voldemort could probably even make himself a whole new set of Horcruxes if he desired, and Harry couldn't stand to start over. The world couldn't stand to start over.

So, hating himself, wishing there was another way, Harry left Ron there, screaming as the curse infected him. Voldemort was still waiting for him in the next room, and Ron's cries could still be heard from the old one.

"We don't have to do this!" Harry shouted, knowing Voldemort wouldn't listen. He might have only said it because, for that moment when he was shouting, he couldn't hear Ron dying. "If we both just walk away right now neither of us would have to die. We could agree never to see each other again. This doesn't have to happen."

"The Seer said, 'Neither may live while the other survives,'" Voldemort hissed apparently under the impression that Harry was trying to trick him. "Seers can't lie while in a trance."

"But they can't See everything either," Harry replied. "That Seer saw one possibility out of trillions of futures. We still have a choice."

"You have proven yourself to be a threat to me," Voldemort said. "I cannot allow you to live."

"Excellent," Harry said, and meant it. His hand tightened around the foreign wand.

The two figures circled each other, neither knowing from whom the first strike would emanate, but in a fight such as this, one well placed spell might be all it would take.

Voldemort struck suddenly. Harry couldn't tell what the spell was, but he hoped a personal shield spell would be enough to stop it.

Their next spells met in midair and both ricocheted off each other and hit the walls instead.

"You got a new wand," Voldemort hissed. His inflection was impossible to read, so Harry couldn't tell if his opponent was bolstered or intimidated by this.

"Yeah, well, you took mine," Harry replied cheekily. "This one's on loan."

The battle continued on this way for some time. They started out almost evenly matched, but Voldemort was rapidly pressing the advantage of his superior knowledge in magic, almost as though he had been toying with Harry and grown tired of prolonging the fight.

Inevitably, one of Voldemort's spells broke through, and, to Harry's utter misfortune, it happened to the Cruciatus curse. Feeling as though every nerve in his body had suddenly caught fire, Harry dropped to his knees. He couldn't fight back while the spell was on him, he could barely even think. Maybe this was some of how Ron was feeling.

Ron.

He had to get back there.

Suddenly, the pain was gone. Shaking slightly, Harry got back to his feet and raised his wand again.

Harry wasn't sure what made him do it, but he cast a hex and the charm to make objects bounce one right after the other. Somehow, the second one caught up with the first and they both careened pathetically off course. Harry thought all was lost, but the spells bounced off the wall and then another and another, then hit Voldemort in the back, covering his skin in disgusting flakes.

Harry didn't know what to think, he'd never heard of spells acting on other spells like that, and judging by Voldemort's expression, he hadn't either. They both paused, awestruck, but Harry pulled himself together faster.

Harry pressed his advantage to its fullest extent, casting every spell he could think of. His opponent barely had time to acknowledge the last barrage, much less prepare for the next.

Finally, Voldemort had been hit with so many curses and hexes that he could no longer fight back. Indeed, he could barely even move. Harry stood over him, knowing what he had to do and hating every bit of it. Still, he took a moment to remember everything he had faced because of the man lying before him, all the people who had died and those who had lived in fear for years, and from this he summoned every ounce of hatred and revulsion he possessed. In that moment there was no doubt in his mind that he wanted Voldemort dead.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Voldemort collapsed, dead.

For a moment, Harry simply stood over Voldemort, panting slightly, as though he wasn't entirely sure what had just happened, and then he knelt down, pulled his wand out of Voldemort's pocket, and raced back into the other room. Ron had stopped screaming, and Harry feared that he might have waited too long.

"Ennervate!" Harry whispered weakly, pointing his wand at Ron's chest, but instead of waking up, Ron gave a great twitch, as though using magic on him had caused a great deal of pain. Desperately, Harry tried levitating him, and while this spell worked, Ron started having some sort of seizure which continued until Harry lowered him back to the floor. If magic had that sort of effect on Ron, then Harry had only one choice, to carry him.

Disapparating was out of the question at the moment; that would be the first of all the charms that would remain protecting the school, so that at least the Death Eaters wouldn't be able to escape by Disapparating. The same was sure to be true of the floo network. This was unfortunate for Harry, because it meant that unless there was someone in Hogwarts, the nearest help would be in Hogsmeade, three kilometers away.

He half carried and half dragged Ron out of the dungeons and into the Entrance Hall, where he stood yelling for help for as long as he dared, but there was no response. He even sent out a patronus, hoping some member of the Order would see it and know what it meant. Harry hadn't expected to find the castle so deserted or eerie.

With nothing else for it, Harry dragged Ron to the front door, forced it open with his foot, and stepped outside.

It was immensely foggy, the sun scarcely penetrating the thick layer of mist, making it seem as though it was still predawn on the ground, even though a watch would have maintained that it was in fact early morning.

It had finally stopped raining sometime during the night, but deep puddles covered the ground. They seemed to delight in blending in with the fog, making themselves even more difficult to see than their surroundings, which could be spotted through the fog at a distance of no more than a meter.

If it was difficult to see then it was impossible to hear: the fog seemed to suck up all the sound. The birds must have chosen to forgo their morning songs, the little sound there was came from the two figures that emerged, fighting their way through the mist. Still, Harry could barely hear his struggling footsteps and Ron's dragging feet nor his own ragged breath and Ron's occasional gasps of pain.

Within minutes their feet were soaked as Harry walked straight into puddles he hadn't been able to see. Soon their robes and hair were damp as well as they captured water from the fog. Harry imagined that Ron must be very cold; he would have been too if he wasn't the one doing all the work. As it was, the condensing fog intermingled with the sweat and tears on his face.

Finally, silhouettes of the nearest buildings of Hogsmeade began to loom into view and Harry put all the energy he had left into an extra burst of speed until he reached the street.

"Help!" Harry yelled. When there was no response he said it again and again, but it was no use, Hogsmeade was just as deserted as Hogwarts.

Harry lowered Ron to the ground and began to check him over. He didn't seem to be breathing and Harry couldn't find a pulse, he could only hope that was because he didn't know how to look for one. At any rate, the situation was now either desperate or hopeless, but Harry couldn't simply give up on Ron, not anymore, not after everything.

Harry kneeled down, grasped Ron's arms very tightly, and cleared his mind, and Disapparated. The horrible feeling of compression seemed to last much longer than usual, but his arrival at Saint Mungo's was impossible to miss. They were suddenly surrounded by people and there were several screams, but none of them were Ron's.

"Out of the way!" Harry shouted desperately, getting to his feet and pulling Ron to the edge of the crowd.

"Help!" he called to the first Healer he saw. She came hurrying over immediately and helped Harry to lift Ron onto a stretcher. She hardly even asked questions, just Ron's name, as she hurried upstairs with Harry in tow, gathering more Healers and a few on-lookers as she went.

"Let's get him on a bed!" the Healer shouted to her colleagues as soon as they reached a treatment room.

Three of them lifted him from the stretcher and onto the bed, and one reported, "He's not breathing!" He forced a potion down Ron's throat.

"Ronald Weasley!" the first Healer said, leaning down to speak directly in Ron's ear. "You're at Saint Mungo's. We're trying to save you, can you wake up?"

"What happened to him?" one of the Healers asked. It took Harry a moment to realize that the question was directed at him.

"He got cursed."

"What spell?" the Healer pressed.

"I don't know, I'd never seen it before," Harry faltered, feeling suddenly exhausted. "There was no incantation."

"That's alright, sit down, son."

But Harry didn't sit.

"I'm not leaving. He's my friend."

"Harry! Are you alright! What about Ron!"

Harry turned and saw Hermione rushing toward him with Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. Hermione's injuries looked somehow worse than the last time he'd seen her.

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry replied. "But Ron, he's…"

"Oh, Ron!" Mrs. Weasley cried, rushing up to him, crowding a Healer out of the way as she went.

"Healer's ready!" someone shouted.

"No, wait!" Harry exclaimed. "I already tried, magic only makes it-"

"Finite Incantatum!" all the Healers shouted at once.

Ron started screaming again, and somehow it was even more horrible to hear than before.

Harry found it almost impossible to watch as the Healers worked to save Ron, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. Ron had been trying to rescue Harry, and it was Harry who left him to die. Somehow, Harry felt he had to stay, as though his presence alone would help somehow. When someone called his name from the hallway, he tried to ignore her.

"That's Professor McGonagall looking for you," Hermione said unhelpfully after a few seconds of this. All the color seemed to have drained from her face.

Very reluctantly, Harry went to go speak with the Headmistress, but he couldn't bring himself to cross the threshold into the hallway.

"How did you escape?" McGonagall questioned without preamble.

"I…Disapparated," Harry replied slowly. Half his mind was still with Ron.

"How many Death Eaters are still in the castle?" McGonagall pressed.

"I didn't see any," Harry said. "There was no one there when I left."

"No one?" McGonagall gasped. "But, what about You-Know-Who?"

"I-Know…?" Harry stumbled. "Oh. He's…he's dead, I killed him."

It was strange: that all seemed like such a long time ago, yet it was the event that Harry had been waiting for his entire life. Now it paled in comparison with his concern for Ron.

"Dead?" McGonagall said. "You're sure?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed. "It's over."

For the next day and a half, Harry, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley could rarely be found away from Ron's bedside, but then Ron woke up and found his arm, which had received the worst of the spell, numb and wrapped in bandages and the world free of Voldemort.

The Ministry was kept busy over the next few weeks sorting out the living from the dead and the innocent from the guilty. As an escaped prisoner who was captured inside of Hogwarts, Lucius Malfoy was sent to Azkaban without trial.

Remus' body was found, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were shocked and dismayed when the Healers' estimates put his time of death several hours after they left him.

Tonks was not seen, at least not in any recognizable form, for several months, though there were many who suspected that she attended Remus' funeral in disguise. She eventually returned to the Ministry as an Auror.

With the help of the house-elves, Hogwarts was repaired, and students returned the next fall for classes. Hogsmeade was rebuilt as well.

Neville recovered from his encounter with Bellatrix Lestrange. His parents, unfortunately, did not.

Grawp made a full recovery, thanks to the care of the centaurs. He and Hagrid eventually moved to France so that Hagrid could spend more time with his brother, and with Madam Maxime.

Hermione was so preoccupied with helping Harry and Ron after the battle that she forgot to take care of herself. It was several months before she told her friends what Lucius Malfoy had done to her, and only because she could handle it alone no longer.

Ron eventually regained the use of his damaged arm, though it never healed entirely.

Harry and Ginny sorted out their relationship eventually, and Ron and Hermione continued theirs.

Voldemort was never seen or heard from again.

Harry went on to live a normal life, though he could never quite resist a bit of adventure.

The End.

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Author's Note: That's all, folks, though, if you really want more, this story leads directly into one of my earlier stories, "The Interlude," which leads to "The End," which is augmented by "Runner," and concludes with "Coda."

Thanks for all your support. I hope you enjoy Deathly Hallows.


End file.
